


The Quarry of The Frost

by Cazio



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Baby!Loki, Cazio, Jotun Loki, Jotun!Loki, M/M, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Thorki - Freeform, Thunderfrost - Freeform, non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:15:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cazio/pseuds/Cazio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is captured from Jotunheim as a false prize for Asgard in order for his brothers to escape. Spelled into silence for an unknown amount of time, Loki must traverse this new realm in quiet suffering while Asgard inflicts its worst, save for one golden prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man With The Burning Blood

**Author's Note:**

> "Beware of the dog that doesn't bark, he will be the first one to bite." - German Proverb
> 
> Quarry (noun): An animal pursued by a hunter, hound, predatory mammal, or bird of prey.

Glacial enclaves created dazzling colors in the firelight as the Jotunar moved through the ice canyons. Asgard had destroyed yet another home, and the royal family needed to move to a safer location. A good mass of Jotun warriors surrounded them, spears in hand in case any ice creatures were to spring. Farbauti walked with her head held high, her black locks dripping with jewels that accented her curvatious form. Laufey conversed with his generals and scribes as they showed him maps and colored parchment to tell him of what had happened to their previous home.

"Come, Loki," Farbauti cooed, smiling brightly as her little son waddled toward her. Loki's limbs were still chubby and his movement uncoordinated and clumsy, but he tried his best to keep up with his mother. He did not understand why they needed to walk so much, and it made his legs tired very quickly.

Farbauti offered a hand and Loki rushed toward her in earnest, giggling as his pudgy hand reached out. His mother took it in her own and slowed her steps so that Loki could waddle at her side.

"Mof," said Loki, red eyes glittering as he looked up at his mother. It was his way of addressing her, as he could not pronounce "mother."

"Yes, Loki?"

"Mof," he said again, more matter-of-factly this time. Farbauti laughed softly and squeezed his hand. Loki's legs hurt, but his mother continued to walk so he tried to follow as best he could. How was it that the others could stand for so long? Didn't their feet hurt too?

A guttural noise sounded from above them and the Jotun soldiers immediately stepped close, growling at the sides of the ice canyon above.

"Mother!" Two voices cried in unison, and two young boys dashed through the forest of blue legs toward Farbauti. She let go of Loki's hand to embrace them. Loki tumbled backward and landed on his rump in the snow. He cocked his head, eyes blinking wide as he tried to figure out how he had ended up on the ground. His mother embraced her two eldest suns, Helblindi and Byleistr. Loki recognized them, and clapped his hands in greeting. Neither of them looked up from their spot burrowed against their mother's thighs.

A shadow fell over the runt-prince and Loki peered up to see another face he recognized.

"Fee!" he squealed, lifting his arms toward the face looming above him. Laufey bared his teeth, a motion Loki knew well. It meant he had been bad. Loki's face fell and he ducked his head down, his-jaw-length black hair swathing around the sides of his ears.

Laufey grumbled something that ended with "mother." Loki examined his fingers, watching how they moved when he asked them to with his head. No, it wasn't that, he just decided and suddenly, they moved! He wiggled his fingers again, then bunched them in a ball.

Suddenly something was hurting his head as Laufey tugged the little braid behind his ear. Loki screeched in pain, throwing himself to standing and clawing the bit of Laufey's hands that he could reach. His father grunted and shoved him toward Farbauti. Loki landed face first in the snow—it was so cold! He pushed up to his hands and knees and crawled to the safety of his mother, ducking under the fur curtain of her cloak.

"Mof," he murmured, nuzzling into her calf. Farbauti crouched, grasping the scruff of his furs and pulling him out from under her. She murmured softly to Loki and his brothers, then expanded her arms to invited them to gather at her chest. Helblindi kicked Loki aside and grabbed his mother around the waist.

"Loki." Byleistr lifted his brother from the snow and dusted the white from the little princeling's round blue face. Loki's lip quivered from the cold and the pain of being tossed and dragged about, but his elder brother noticed and pulled Loki into his arms in a rare showing of affection. Byleistr scooped him up and hurried to their mother as another growl sounded from above.

Shouts echoed across the glimmering ice that encased them, and Loki peered up with one red eye to see a monster, a huge furred beast with long teeth that reminded him of his father. The little prince snuggled tighter against his brothers and mother.

Spears flew through the air toward the monster and it snarled, reaching a massive paw into the canyon as though it could swipe at them. Instead, a spear shot clean through its leg and a scream sounded through the cavern.

"Safe, Byleistr, Helblindi, Loki, mother, safe," Farbauti murmured. Though Loki could not understand the other words, he knew that his mother was soothing him. Suddenly the creature tumbled into the canyon, likely because of the immense pain from the spear. It landed harshly in the unforgiving ground and Jotunar were upon it before it could stand. Red painted the walls of ice, and Loki knew that red was bad when it was not in the eyes. A loud roar came from the mass of blue bodies and the creature reared up, pummeling warriors with its paws.

"Go!" his mother screamed, and Loki knew that she meant for him to go fast. Helblindi and Byleistr scampered away, black hair whipping behind them as they escaped. Loki followed with his arms slightly raised to steady himself, bumbling along the packed permafrost as fast as his plump legs would carry him. He could hear his mother's growling and looked back to see her blocking the creature's way as it clobbered through the mass of warriors. It was going to grab her!

"Mof!" he screamed and started running toward her. A warrior caught sight of him and broke from the mass. Loki tried to avoid him, but a massive blue arm scooped up by the waist and slung Loki over his shoulder. The little prince wailed for his mother, flailing wildly to try and escape. It was useless.

He watched as his mother was tossed aside by the creature and Laufey jumped to her side, covered in purple, the same color that sometimes ran from his skin when he fell to the ground too hard. The little prince's eyes widened as he saw the creature coming toward them at an alarming pace, hindered by the splinter of wood still lanced through its paw. Loki's screaming took on a greater intensity, but the Jotun beneath him did not understand.

A clawed paw reached out and suddenly everything was bright and drenched in purple and blue. Loki became very still as the body above him jerked and shifted. He heard a tiny gasp in his ear and knew something was wrong when purple liquid began to stream out of the warrior's mouth and onto his pale blue cheek. Why was the man leaking purple? Why was he not running anymore?

Horrible sounds accompanied each jerk of the body above him, and the snow beneath Loki's back began to seep into his scant furs and make his thin Jotun skin shiver. He had never shivered from cold before. He didn't like it very much. But something about the purple liquid made him not want to swallow it by opening his mouth, so he was quiet while the monster huffed and grumbled above. His little hands clutched at the straps of leather on the soldier, and realized that the man was missing the drumming noise that he heard when his mother held him. Maybe only mothers had those, he thought.

Suddenly the monster's huffing turned into a loud scream and Loki flinched, hugging tight to the soldier. "Go," he whispered softly, "go, go, go." But the man would not move. Cold began to find him and sink her teeth into his skin, and Loki began to shudder uncontrollably. He wanted his mother; he wanted someone with a drumming noise he could listen to. He liked to fall asleep to that noise. The man jerked and Loki gasped, the man was awake!

Then the man rolled off of him and he was staring at the face of his father. Loki's toothless mouth quickly shut and his red eyes went wide. Laufey was covered in the same purple as the man, but his skin was also spattered with the red that had dripped from the beast. Loki curled up and closed his eyes, but his father did not drag him this time.

"Byleistr," his father called. Loki's eyes opened again and he tried to sit up, but he was pressed too deep into the snow. His brother appeared above him, and as Byleistr lifted him up, the little prince could feel that his brother was trembling. The elder prince said something that included his name and Loki giggled in response. Byleistr showed his teeth and Loki quieted, but them resumed his happy murmurings as he was tucked against his brother. Loki sighed at the soft drumming he heard there, though it was quicker than his mother's. So maybe other Jotun did have drums in their chests after all.

"Mof," he murmured, lifting a now-purpled hand to rub his eyes, He was very tired.

"No," Byleistr shook his head.

"Mof." But Loki's eyelids were drooping, even though he wanted to see his mother. Byleistr began to trot along behind their father, and Loki's eyes momentarily widened as he saw the creature—the creature was still there with the man! But they were both slumbering, and the man was slathered in purple, his legs were shorter too. Sleep became too tempting though, and he burrowed against his brother once more. Before long, he was dreaming, sound asleep.

 

* * *

 

Farbauti did not die, but she was gravely wounded from the attack and unable to bear any more children. The Jotunar arrived at the secondary castle, the one only visited in the depth of winter to escape the sheer cold of being further inland. Its position on the cliffs shielded it from wind, and the ice-forest was close enough to search for game.

The little princeling knew none of this but that it looked like home. He squealed with glee and toddled forward the moment the door to the castle opened. The walls towered above him and the ground was unforgiving beneath his bare feet, but Loki was too excited to be home.

The next few days were filled with much speaking of words Loki could not understand, but he was content to chew on his fists and feet while his mother tended to her duties as Queen.

One morning, Loki heard his name as his mother spoke to Laufey.

"Mof?" he asked, cocking his head. His mother never said his name unless she was calling to him. Farbauti didn't stop speaking. Loki fiddled with the scrap of cloth he had been given to play with. Typical playthings for a young Jotun, and Loki found them fascinating.

Then he heard his name again, and made a purring noise around the cloth in his mouth. His mother's voice rose, as did Laufey's. Loki didn't much like it, but Jotunar could become very loud sometimes, and his cloth was making his tongue dry—that was much more interesting. The growling continued for a long while, and eventually Loki sprawled out on his fur rug and fell asleep.

 

 

When he woke, Helblindi was prodding him.

"Loki," his brother said, along with a few other words, "hungry?"

Yes, he was very hungry! Loki shoved himself to a sitting position and scooted forward on his rump, extending his arms. Helblindi reached down and picked him up and the little princeling laughed delightedly, tugging at his brother's slightly curved horns. The other prince lightly pried off his fingers after making a hissing noise, and bopped him on the head. Loki laughed wildly then snuggled against his brother's shoulder as they headed to get food.

Once Helblindi had given him a bit of warm mush to eat (of which Loki got most of all over his clothes and face), the older prince picked him up again, saying that they were "going out." Loki loved "out" almost as much as he loved the word "play." He wriggled excitedly in Helblindi's grasp as they walked through the castle, eager to be free from the confines of the dark walls. He liked brightness, and snow fascinated him. It was so white and pure compared to all of the other colors of Jotunheim, and he loved to slosh it between his fingers and toss it about. And eat it.

He wasn't wearing any furs though, so when Helblindi pushed open the doors, Loki gurgled in surprise and nestled close against his brother's shoulder. He rubbed his ear along the smooth blue until he heard the thudding beneath the skin, and watched the world change before his eyes as they ventured into the ice-forest.

The trees looked prickly and sharp from where they spiked up from the packed dirt, but Loki only noticed the clumps of white resting on the branches. "Pay, Blindi," he urged, grabbing uselessly for the snow.

His brother chuckled and hoisted him a little higher so that Loki's round belly was resting on the curve of his shoulder. The little prince knew what this meant and he clambered around Helblindi's neck to sit on his shoulders. Loki's chubby hands grasped tightly to his brother's horns and watched the surroundings change from atop Helblindi's head. The trees seemed to be reaching to embrace him, and little red eyes stared in awe as the forest became thicker and thicker. Loki let out a soft screech of wonder at how silent it was, and Helblindi quickly shushed him and told him "quiet" over and over again. Loki didn't much like quiet, but his brother might not let him play if he wasn't.

Finally, after a long, long, ride atop his brother's shoulders; Helblindi finally plucked Loki off. The little princeling was growing sleepy again from sitting up for so long. Loki stretched his arms and yawned softly as his brother plopped him into a blanket of snow that seemed to stretch for miles, though it was actually only a dozen feet or so in diameter.

"Look, Loki," Helblindi said, and a bit of cloth suddenly appeared. The little prince squealed with happiness—how had the cloth appeared? Helblindi was so clever that way! Pudgy fingers snatched the cloth away and Loki immediately stuffed it into his mouth. Then Helblindi tipped him backwards and Loki tumbled into the snow, blinking in surprise at the fact that he was now staring at the sky. After a moment he gave a gurgling laugh and looked up as his brother as Helblindi stood.

"Bye, Loki," the elder prince said, ruffling Loki's short black hair.

"Bye!" Loki replied—he knew how to use that word! Then Helblindi was gone, and he was alone in the powdery snow. He didn't mind though, and continued sucking on his piece of cloth. That got boring, so he sat up to explore. The snow was soft and didn't bother him as he crawled through it, clutching his cloth all the while. He buried his face in the white, but that was a little too cold, so he sat up to rub his eyes. Snow was hard to melt on Jotun skin.

He investigated the trees next and rubbed his tiny hands along the scratchy bark. Loki decided he didn't much like trees, and his hands came away sticky. When he shoved his fist into his mouth, it tasted bitter so he stopped. After unsuccessfully chewing his hands, he realized that he was hungry again. Very hungry.

"Mof," he whined, but didn't hear anything. "Moooof!"

No answer. Then he remembered that Helblindi had brought him here. So he called for his brother, but there was no answer again, only steady, cold wind. He began to grow uncomfortable and lonely. He wanted his mother, or Helblindi. He wanted to go home. But no one came for him and tears began to well in his red eyes. Where were they? Where was Helblindi?

"Blindi!" he wailed, and the tears began to roll down his round cheeks. His stomach growled loudly and he began to sob and scream until he heard a thudding noise that reminded him of the drumming he so often heard when nestled against his mother.

"Mof! Mof!" He scooted toward the noise as it began to grow louder. Then the ground began to shake. That didn't feel so familiar.

Suddenly a giant monster burst from the trees, with gangly, disgusting legs that terrified him. Loki screamed in fear and the tears began to streak his cheeks again. He just wanted his mother—where was she? Where was his mother? The creature screamed back at him, much louder and much, much more frightening than him being alone. Loki sobbed and curled up into a ball as the creature circled around to face him. Smoke burst from its gangly snout and it stomped into the snow. It loomed over him much more than Laufey ever had, and Loki burrowed into the snow to try to hide.

After a moment, he peeked out from beneath his arm to see that the creature had stones attached to its legs. They frightened him and he clutched his cloth tightly and whimpered.

A strange voice sounded above him, unlike any he had ever heard before. It was warm and smooth and very strange. A red eye poked out from the crook of his arm, and a different creature was staring at him than the one with stone-legs. Its eyes were mostly white except for a small ice-colored disk in the center. It looked like a very strange Jotun, and had white fur on its face.

Loki burrowed into the snow again, sniffling quietly. "Mof…" he murmured, and then he said it over and over. Why didn't this creature find his mother? He wanted his mother!

Another creature burst from the foliage and Loki screamed again and began to sob wildly. They were going to eat him, he guessed. He was shaking from fear when he heard the first creature say "Laufey." His crying stopped instantly and he looked at the white-furred creature once more.

"Fee," Loki said. The creature blinked.

"Laufey?"

Loki nodded. He didn't really want to see his father, but Laufey was often around his mother, so that was close enough. He wanted to be home. The creature gently lifted him and Loki cried out—its hand was covered in clothing! The creature hushed him in a low tone and pressed him to its chest. Loki started to squirm away, and then he heard the drumming noise. Only this time it was much louder, and faster too. Loki decided that he liked this creature, though it was holding him the way his mother did when feeding him. The creature grumbled something that the little prince could not understand, and its strange, ugly eyes stared down at him for a short while before the creature began to carry him.

Loki tried to stay awake, but the creature was very warm, better than any fur he could have imagined. The steady beat of the creature's chest lulled him to sleep even as he bounced and rocked awkwardly from the stone-footed creature beneath them. Loki was quiet, but he was still very anxious to see his mother.

 

 

When next he woke, he heard a loud scream of his name. It made him start, but when he turned his head he saw his mother's face. Her red eyes were wide and her mouth open in the way that she sometimes did when she popped out from hiding behind her hands. He laughed at the memory, thinking that she was playing a game with him. But Farbauti did not laugh in return and he was suddenly snatched away from the creature and into her arms.

Loki burrowed into her soft chest; glad to feel cool skin instead of hot. The creature had been warm, but he didn't like being warm for very long. His mother stroked his cheeks, murmuring softly to him and pressing her lips to his head. Loki found that odd, his mother had not embraced him like this in a very long time. He gurgled happily—Farbauti must have missed him.

"Mof," he greeted.

"Yes, Loki," she replied and kissed him again. His mother then took him away from the creature that had returned him home, and Loki only caught one a last glimpse of the pale, white fur-faced being before Laufey slammed the door shut behind them, making the princeling jump in surprise.

His mother spent the next hours washing him, feeding him, and snuggling him close. Loki grabbed at her horns whenever she pressed her lips to his bare belly and gave jolly laughs when she tickled him. Farbauti was much more affectionate than usual, but Loki hardly noticed. She had even given him a new scrap of cloth to play with!

He was busy suckling on his new cloth when Farbauti placed him on a fur rug. Loki rolled onto his back and grabbed for his blue toes. His mother and father began to speak in low tones and Loki tried his best to understand what they were saying. He heard the words "runt," "abandoned," "should," and "died" over and over again, but he didn't know what they meant.

"Mof!" he cried. Farbauti turned to glance at him, and then turned away again. Helblindi was mentioned a few times, along with his name, but Loki was more upset that his mother would no longer pay attention to him. What the little princeling didn't know was that earlier that day was the last time Farbauti would ever show affection to him again.

 

* * *

 

For the next winters, Loki lived life as a prisoner in his own home. He learned that he was the runt who had cursed Farbauti—the demon child that had caused the gods to send a monster after her to shred her reproductive organs. He was also the one who had singlehandedly stopped an Asgardian attack. Odin had taken pity on him and returned him to the palace, deciding not to attack and return the child to its parents instead.

As Laufey told it, Loki had run away from the palace and the Aesir were insulting Jotunheim, mocking them and accusing them of being careless with their children by bringing Loki back. It was Loki's fault that the entire realm had been humiliated and that made him a traitor to the realm. Even so, he was a prince so he was not put to death. Instead, he was caged in a small bedchamber. Private tutors schooled him in the ways of etiquette, laws, foreign affairs, weaponry, and magic. Sorcerers were impressed with his skills and once finished with his other studies he began to master in spells and sorcery.

Around the age of fifteen winters, Loki began to develop womanly features. Jotunar were born with both organs, but should they be in the company of many others with the same gender during puberty, they changed sex to ensure that the species would continue. His horns began to curve to a slight sideways "S" instead of the round ram horns that his brothers possessed and his buttocks rounded a slight bit. Once Laufey discovered this, however, all of Loki's servants were switched with women and this effectively stunted Loki's change. His horns rounded only slightly though, as they were the first feature to change, but they were the only indication of his started switch.

Loki spent only one (supervised) hour outside each day to practice spells and the like, otherwise he was confined to his bedchamber. Helblindi often came upon him, very often with malicious intent. Loki learned to endure the whippings, the punches, bites, and slashes from Helblindi's horns. Occasionally Byleistr would join him, though the middle prince would often only watch, and occasionally stay behind to clean Loki's wounds. But not always. Sometimes Byleistr would smell of alcohol and both older princes would pin him down and beat him into submission.

Farbauti—on the rare occasion that she visited—merely scoffed at Loki for not fighting back, though Loki's brothers were much larger than him and harming them would only add to his sentence (however long it would be). She said it was a necessary part of brotherhood and that Loki should be thankful that they visit their runt sibling at all.

Sometimes, Helblindi would bring friends and let them explore Loki with their fingers in places he knew were not to be touched by other hands. Worse yet, his brother would sometimes send women to him. Even female Jotunar were larger than him and they could easily force him to bed them. Loki thought it disgraceful and he felt filthy afterward, even though he was taking the man's role. Eventually, he forced himself to take pleasure in it, though after releasing he often became ill for the next few days due to the guilt and disgust. He learned to grow accustomed to it and whenever a Jotun entered his chambers past sunset, he would immediately strip down.

Two months after his twenty-first name day, Farbauti entered his chambers. Loki looked up from his book with a blank expression, expecting that it would be Helblindi coming to show his dominance. It had been awhile since either of his brothers had visited.

"Come with me, Loki," his mother said. Her voice was soft, but commanding. She had never asked him to leave his bedchamber before.

Loki stood without questioning her. He knew his place, and certainly knew better than to ask why. His wolfskin clothing was wearing at the edges as he came to her side—he had never needed to wear it in public. Farbauti urged him forward and led him down the many corridors of the palace until they arrived at her room (Loki had studied the palace maps and blueprints during his studies, so though he had no memory of any of the rooms, he knew where they were). His mother seemed tense.

"Quickly, little prince," she hissed. Loki hurried inside.

Loki was still very much a boy, twenty-one winters was essentially infancy in Jotun terms, though he was sexually mature. Though his vocabulary was as advanced as most adults, he had no experience with life and knew nothing outside of his books and spells. Farbauti motioned to a stool and he sat on it, a bit uneasy.

"Stay still." She pulled up a stool behind his and grabbed a brush. The boar-bristles burned his scalp, but Loki stayed absolutely still. His mother— _no one_  had ever brushed his hair before. His black locks were seldom braided like other Jotunar, for that made it all too easy for Helblindi to use it as a leash. Loki's hair hung to his navel and held gentle waves that looked remarkably like his mother's. Their markings were similar too—as all were in the royal family.

Loki noticed the array of gold jewelry laying out on the vanity before him and Farbauti began to string gold pieces into his hair. She wrapped some ebony strands with gold thread, but most often she weaved in gold discs to create the appearance of large gold dots in his hair. He began to take on a royal appearance as Farbauti smoothed his hair to behind his horns so that the bases could be seen.

"Do you know of the Aesir, Loki?" she asked as she grasped his wrist.

"Of course, they are hated by all of Jotunheim," he answered as Farbauti clasped a gold band to his wrist.

"And?"

"And," he swallowed, "it is my fault that they think us barbaric."

His mother nodded, and proceeded to clasp more gold to his other wrist. "Do you wish to protect your brothers, Loki?"

No, he wanted to answer. "Yes. I would end my life to spare theirs."

"The Aesir are coming. They have been sighted in the south. They come to steal a prince." Farbauti produced a massive gold necklace, and when she clasped it around his neck it seemed to weigh his entire body down.

"What will happen to me?" He was not daft enough to think that he would be going with the rest of the Jotunar. With Helblindi and Byleistr. In fact, he suspected the other two princes were miles away already.

"They will take you," his mother replied flatly. She gestured for him to stand, and then tore off his clothes. Loki didn't so much as bat an eye. She fetched royal garb, a white saber-catskin loincloth threaded with more gold. He had only seen such garments on his brothers, and occasionally their friends. He had never worn any before.

"Listen well, my son." She had never called him her son before. He turned to regard her with a stoic look in his crimson eyes. "You must not let them touch you, do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Should they touch you, your skin will burn with the force of a thousand fires. When they first take you to their realm, they will try to treat you as a favored guest. This is a ruse. They will attempt to seduce you with treasures, women, and things of luxury. " She clasped large gold bands to his biceps, and loose chains to his ankles. "They feast on Jotun hearts. They mean to fatten you up and let you grow comfortable so that you will not expect it when they slit your throat."

"Yes, mother."

"You must only eat their meat. Do you know what Aesir meat looks like?"

"Red, and wet," he answered.

"Yes. Sometimes brown—they like to char their meat. Eat only enough to fit in your palm, they will often slip poison that will kill you should you eat too much."

"But don't they mean to fatten me?"

She grabbed one of his horns and yanked his head back to wrap more gold on him. "Only eat a palm's worth. Drink only what you see the Aesir drinking; swap chalices when they are not looking. They are rather dull, you will find, so it is easy to trick them."

He nodded, his body oddly calm for a man about to be taken prisoner.

"They will think you an honored prince, do not tell them any differently. "

"I would not dare," he responded in a low tone. They would kill him if they found out.

Farbauti turned him at his shoulders to face her. "Show me your tongue."

Though confused, Loki abided. A blue finger pressed to his grey-purple tongue and it felt as if ice were crawling down his throat. He gasped and tried to speak, but no sound came out.

"This will ensure you follow directions until we can properly escape." She grabbed one of his horns and began to inspect it, as if expecting the black curves to turn to snakes. "You are my offspring, and I expect you to act as such. " She curled a finger beneath his chin and tipped his head up to look down at him. "To the Aesir you will be nothing but a glorified slave, a whore, and a spoil of war. But never let them touch you, no matter the lies they feed you. Every word they say is to trick you, Loki, and if you so much as hint to submission they will bind you and mount you as their prize. You must resist, to save us from further humiliation."

He swallowed, fear lacing his eyes. The pain of being taken by a man was enough, but to be taken by an Aesir whose skin burned like fire…he could imagine nothing worse. Not to mention that he would be nothing more than a prize, a dog to be chained and shown to others as a trophy.

His mother led him to Helblindi's chambers like a gold-laden lamb to slaughter. He decided that he hated the Aesir—it was their fault that he was the palace whore, the worthless runt prince. He loathed them and their pale skin and gold hair, their broad bodies that were always drawn in his tomes.

And so he sat, adorned in gold, lying back on a bearskin rug like the whore he was, waiting. The palace vibrated with the shouts and clangs of war, and the Jotunar warriors made a good show in trying to protect him. When the door flew open, he pretended to be shocked. A man covered in purple Jotun blood breathed heavily in the doorway.

"Prince Loki," the Aesir growled in greeting. Loki cocked his head, sitting up to examine the other race. The man had tanned skin, with blonde hair that was festering in sporadic curls. He was missing a hand. Tyr. Loki recognized him from the Aesir texts. He looked considerably less godlike in person, Loki noted. Aesir warriors swarmed him before he could open his mouth—not that he could say anything anyway. Their gloved hands bound him with heavy chains, and hauled him from the floor by the wrists. It hurt, but Loki made no show of pain.

Tyr borrowed a glove, and tipped up Loki's chin. The Jotun snarled, baring his slightly sharpened teeth.

"You'll make a good bargaining chip. And a fine little bitch to play with," Tyr grinned.

How dare he! Loki jerked back quickly and sunk his teeth into the leather glove. Heat spread through the enamel, and suddenly boiling liquid hit his tongue. The next instant, he was clubbed over the head and he spit crimson as the blood burned the inside of his mouth.

"A feisty little bitch!" a warrior bellowed. A chorus of laughter followed.

The look in Tyr's eyes made his stomach churn. Loki could feel his lip swelling from the burn of fresh Aesir blood as he was dragged from Helblindi's bedchamber, and suddenly wished to be back in his room with his books. He closed his eyes and swallowed a burning drop of blood, listening to the warriors beside him.

"Ya think he'll keep the Jotun?" one said with a rocky voice.

"For a time. Tyr's been after one for awhile, I think he's got eyes for this runt," the other answered.

"Aye, I'd say he does. Though it won't much matter what he thinks, if Thor wants him."

"I wouldn't be so sure, the Allfather tends to keep his word. A prisoner is under the charge of his capturer."

Loki swallowed, opening his eyes again and lifting his head a little. Tyr was to be his charge then. Well, he hoped Helblindi and Byleistr were having a grand time escaping, Loki was no coward, he would do as he was asked. He would restore Jotunheim in the eyes of these monsters.


	2. Prince of the Spoils

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two princes finally meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why these chapters are so long, or how I managed to churn this one out so fast. o.o
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful comments and kudos!

Loki should have known to listen to Farbauti—even if she hated him for making her barren. His mother was wise and experienced with the Nine Realms in ways Loki would never be. Being a Queen f Jotunheim, she had probably attended gatherings in all of the realms over her years and Asgard was probably one she had visited most often. Loki knew of the wars that raged between the realms of ice and gold. Terrible, cruel wars that lasted through generations of Jotunar. A warrior was more likely to lose his life facing an Aesir than to the natural elements.

Laufey was proud, and even though their armies were smaller (or so he heard from his servants who often worried about their husbands), the Ice King would send them back to battle before they could properly recover. As botched a strategy as that seemed in Loki’s mind, they had lasted this long, so it must not have been so bad in thinking.

Despite all of the fighting that took place between his realm and Asgard, the little prince had never seen an Aesir up close. Not that he remembered anyway, though supposedly Odin had carried him back from the ice forests when he was small. He was glad that he had no memory of that, or else he would relive the damning of his life over and over again. 

The Aesir around him stank of mead and musty pelts, along with the smell of the saltwater that poured from their skin like a body ridding poison. Sweat, it was called, according to his books. He had studied the Aesir enough to know of some of their anatomy and characteristics. Still, pictures in tomes were far different than the real thing. Everything about them was loud and blundering, from their massive frames to their brutish facial features. Even their breathing was loud and labored—they sounded like the giantesses after a night of being bedded, when they fell asleep on his bed and snored.

He couldn’t say they treated him badly though, save for the way they yanked his binds when he didn’t move fast enough. Tyr rode at the head of the procession where Loki could not see, speaking amongst his war commanders. Loki hoped it would stay that way, for he hated that particular Aesir more than any other.

The fabled Allfather had not attended this particular battle, from what Loki had gathered. The Aesir-king had decided to stay at home by the fires and send Tyr to do his bidding. Well, actually, he’d been entertaining Vanir ambassadors. The crown prince, Thor, was supposedly courting one of the duchesses, though the warriors argued that their mighty prince would never stay with a woman for longer than a few nights—men fewer still. Loki had flared his nostrils at that. Being the whore he was, he could imagine many a maiden that this “charming prince” had forced himself upon. Thor could probably fill a hall full of his prizes and conquests and spoils of war. Loki did not plan to join his trophy cabinet, he would rather suffer Tyr.

When they finally reached the edge of the ice fields, looking looked down at the blue-black sea at the bottom of the cliffs, water so rough not even the cold of Jotunheim could tame it. Loki had never seen it before, and found it chaotically beautiful. A shame that he would leave such a treasure so soon as he had found it.

The sky erupted with vibrant light, and the Jotun prince held his head high as the army went still. Tyr vanished first, along with his commanders, and the warriors surrounding Loki were next to disappear. The runt-prince closed his eyes as the light enveloped him, then cringed as warmth began to seep into his every pore like a disease.

  

* * *

 

 

Thor strode beside his father as they entered the council hall. Most of the nobility had already gathered and were whispering excitedly to one another. The crown prince paid no notice to this, for he was still upset about being dragged from his bedchamber (more importantly, from the Vanir duchess he’d been kissing) and made to take part in a council for a battle he hadn’t been allowed to attend. That in itself was insulting, but Odin insisted that his duty was as a host and crown prince before it was to war. Thor didn’t much agree with that. Call him childish, but he was not a man who enjoyed being made to sit in a chair and watch as warriors—his warriors—gloated about their kills and victories.

“Oh, brighten up. You’re lucky I’ve decided not to tell Jodhaa about who was hiding in your bathroom,” Odin said as he took a seat at the center chair.

Thor swallowed thickly, temper rising. “She was not hiding.”

His father cocked a brow. Thor looked away, willing the doors to open and start the presenting of the spoils. That way he could slip back to his chambers once the feasting began. His sexual appetite was rather legendary, and there was no use in merriment of the festive sort when he could be adding another women—a Vanir duchess—to his list of conquests. Not even Fandral had bedded a Vanir woman of royalty before.

“If you had let me lead the battle, I would have returned by now with Laufey’s scalp,” Thor growled, shifting in his velvet seat cushion. His trousers still hadn’t quite settled to a comfortable fit yet; thank the gods for the tables.

“If I had let you lead the battle, there would be a Vanir duchess left alone with the likes of Fandral,” Odin replied with a chuckle.

“Oh? So you consider me better than Fandral?”

“Certainly not, you are both fools. You’ll find your wife will not appreciate your antics as much as your petty companions.” Typical Odin, chastising him for something Thor knew he was guilty of. Old tomes quite literally held volumes of his midnight escapades.

“My wife will appreciate it plenty,” Thor said with a sly grin. His father cast him a sidelong glare.

You are still a boy in the eyes of many. This childish behavior will only make the councils wait longer to appoint you as anything more than crown prince.”

Thor growled. “For what cause? I will be king soon enough, it is high time they grant me control over more than just mercenaries. My rank is higher in these halls than it is on the battlefield!”

“There is reason behind that,” Odin snarled. “You cannot yet be entrusted to lead safely, your lust for war is too great.”

Thor’s temper was rising quickly, and he had half a mind to walk right out of the council chamber without the presentations of the spoils.  But the Allfather would only seek to hinder his pursuits, so he decided to stay if only to secure that he would have the night free afterward.

“My decisions during wartime have only bore fruit for the realm. If not for my quick thinking during our last Jotun raid, we would have lost half our crops.”

“I would not call it quick thinking to melt ice.”

“If I recall, you were trying to talk treaties with Laufey. You might as well have been talking to a frozen shrub,” Thor retorted.

“That is enough!” Odin clenched a fist on the table and Thor growled low, but straightened in his seat. A few noblemen looked up from their conversations to glance at them, but their father-son quarrels were nothing new.

The doors began to open, and the room grew quiet, awaiting the prizes. Many noblemen were counting on their men to bring back goods to add to their collections, and many merchants were bordering on the edges of the room in search of what their mercenaries had returned with. Jotunheim may be bleak in appearance and often ravaged, but Aesir had not stormed the Jotunslott in a few decades—not since Odin had returned with nothing but a tale of a lost Jotun babe. Thor had only been a few years old, and though he had no memory of his father’s return that day, he still hated that the Allfather would leave enemy territory without anything to bear upon return.

Tyr strode into the room and applause greeted him. Thor clapped with a sneer on his face and glared at the head general when Tyr offered him a bow. Tyr knew just how much Thor hated that he had stayed behind—their rivalry was well known to all. They were brothers of war, however, and it never extended past sparring and war planning. Tyer was a friend—just not at that moment.

“Odin Allfather, it is my utmost pleasure to present to you our glorious spoils. First, Jotun spices, found amongst the royal kitchens of Laufey’s personal cooks.”

Tyr always made a habit of a slow buildup, and always presented the lowest of their prizes first. Thor was the same, but that didn’t mean he liked watching.

Two servants scurried forward with a massive wooden table. It brimmed with sacks of spices, customarily tied with a leaf from the plant of which they came. Thor had no interest in them, but Odin selected a few that he liked. Jotunar weren’t exactly known for their cooking, but Laufey did present them with fine meals whenever Thor had visited on diplomatic means.

Odin was given automatic ownership of everything returned to the realm, and usually when Thor wished for something, the Allfather would allow him to claim it.  Whatever the king did not choose was then returned to the commanders, who often returned it to those who found it unless it was particularly interesting. Even if it was, they often bargained for it instead, and it was frowned upon for a commander to collect a large amount of spoils he did not find himself.

“Next, we have collected the finest weapons forged by Jotun hands. Swords of ice-stone, shields of Isentykk, all of which you will find appealing, I hope.” Tyr dipped his head and Thor fought to contain a snort at his politeness.

Servant rushed out displays full of ornate weaponry. Like most of Asgard’s royal weapons, they were mostly unused. Ice swords gleamed in the warm light of the golden realm, some of them frosting the wood they lay upon. Odin chose a fine looking staff and a bow carved from Jotunheim forests. Thor decided on a hatchet, but simply because he knew Odin would scold him if he didn’t take anything.

“Jewels, my king. You well know how the Jotunar love their treasures.”

“ _I_ know how much he would like a change in rank,” Thor muttered. Even Odin couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

More servants brought out chests full of gold trinkets and necklaces, so full that the lids would not close all the way.  Every time they attacked Jotunheim, they came home with at least a chest full, and every time they returned more gold seemed to have taken its place.

“I know Mother would be eyeing that ruby pendant,” Thor murmured, flicking a wrist toward a massive necklace hanging from one of the chests.

“I will take the chest with the red pendant and the one beside it,” the king announced. The servants hauled the load to the collection of Odin’s previous pickings.  More jewelry was brought out for them to sort through until Thor began to think that he would go blind from looking at so many jewels. He selected a particularly beautiful gold necklace as a gift to his waiting lady to make up for his having to leave.

“Next, the prisoners.” Tyr nodded to the door and a collection of Frost Giants were shoved through. They were large and covered in their usual saber cat pelts in such a way that it only scarcely covered their loins. Barbaric, in Thor’s opinion.  The crown prince leaned back in his chair, shaking his head as Odin turned to see if he wanted any. He had plenty of slaves and servants; he needed no brutish Jotunar to add to them. Perhaps if one of them was pretty, but the only giantesses were broad and had crooked, sickly horns. Not prime stock.

Once the prisoners were sent off, Thor sat up to leave, but Tyr clucked his tongue, signaling that he was not finished. What left after the prisoners? Thor was eager to return to his bedchamber, not wait around for stories.

“I have one final prize, my liege. Prince Loki, the son of Laufey.”

A son of Laufey? Thor looked to his father, but Odin’s expression was stern—meaning that Loki was indeed a prince. Thor had never heard of Loki before, only that damned Helblindi and Byleistr. He’d seen both of them in battle a few times, ruthless, slimy brutes with no sense of honor.  His lip curled; already disgusted at this Loki and he hadn’t even seen him.

That quickly changed when the prince was dragged into the room. His skin was a pale, calm blue, lined with intricate Jotun markings that signified he was indeed of royal blood.  His features were slightly feminine, though Thor couldn’t place where or why. He was much smaller than any Jotun Thor had ever seen—even shorter than his Aesir escorts. The prince was adorned with gold chains and bangles on every limb; even his hair was laden with it. Loki’s eyes were almost half-lidded and unreasonably seductive ruby lingered behind--coupled with the way his lips were slightly parted…Thor’s mouth went dry.

Loki was distant though; his eyes didn’t glance around the room or even at the face of the mighty Aesir king. When the warriors tugged at his chains the Jotun’s head lagged behind as if he were falling asleep.

“I want him,” Thor said in a low whisper. Odin’s face was unreadable.

“Loki, why not tell of how we found you?” Tyr goaded.  Loki said nothing, eyes staring at something on the floor. Thor was too transfixed at the way Loki’s thigh peeked out from the slit of his royal garb. It was technically a loincloth, but covered in another slip of white fur and more gold. Loki had no piercings though, unlike his brothers who had studs sticking out from their noses and ears like cattle.

“Loki, speak when you are addressed!” Tyr snarled, clenching his only hand into a fist. When the Jotun made no move to say anything, Tyr grabbed the closest horn and yanked the prince’s head back to expose the full length of his throat. By the gods, Thor wanted him.

“You will not humiliate me, runt!” Tyr released the horn only to smack Loki so hard across the face that Thor could hear the air expel from those soft lips. “Speak!”

“He cannot,” Odin boomed. Tyr whirled around and Thor looked to his father with a cocked brow.

“He is mute?” Thor asked. No wonder the Laufeyson was never in battle.

“No. A spell binds his tongue.”

Loki’s head was still turned to the side, but at this revelation he slowly turned to look at Odin for a few moments before looking to the floor again with the same blank expression.

“Farbauti’s, I suspect,” Odin continued. “There is something that he knows that she intends to keep secret.”

“How do we break the spell, my lord?” Tyr asked.

“Usually it is a cadence of words. Runic, perhaps, but I doubt Farbauti had the time to place one with a very cryptic release.  It is probably just a word she thinks none will ever use about him.”

Thor exhaled, leaning back in his chair. He didn’t want a mute Jotun, he wanted one that could moan, and hiss his name. What a waste of such a captivating body.

“Thor, do you still want him as your stead?” Odin asked, throwing a guarded gaze at the crown prince.

Thor shook his head. “I have no use for a mute, spell or otherwise.  Do with him what you wish. “

 “I hardly think it fitting for a prince to live in the servants’ hall. Find a room for him Tyr; you will be his charge during his stay here. Is that all right?” Odin’ eyes were level, but it was obvious that it wasn’t a question.

“It would be my delight. I will ensure he does not create mischief.”

“Good. I trust Laufey will offer something for his return within the month.” Odin looked to Loki, who was swaying slightly. “I would also like him to attend meals at the royal table. He is a prince, after all.”

Tyr didn’t look pleased with that, and Thor grinned. Tyr’s slave would be sitting where he was not allowed. How quaint.

“As you wish, my king.”

With that, the spoils had been presented and the gathering was finished. Thor bid goodnight to his father and shoved his way from the hall, eager to return to his waiting Vanir duchess.

 

\------------------- 

 

“Thor, I must return to my chambers—oh!” Kavita (at least, he was pretty sure that was her name) moaned in his ear as he pressed kiss after kiss along her collarbone, effectively stopping her from returning to her chambers. The guest halls were hardly ever occupied, especially at this time of night.  Slender fingers pressed against his shoulders, and she playfully shoved him back.

“You are not to ruin my sheets with more of your…prowess,” she murmured, trailing a finger across what was exposed of his collarbone.

Thor growled, lust in his eyes.  “Then perhaps we best occupy a room for our coupling, all are empty here.”

“I was told of your stamina,” Kavita purred, craning her head up to part her lips against his jaw. “But I must say I did not believe it.”

“I am insulted.” Thor faked disgust as Kavita’s dancing fingers slid down the front of his armor.

“If my father were to see me,” she slid a hand beneath his waistband, “he would have my head.”

“We best make sure that does not happen then,” he smirked, kissing her until the heady rush started to build in his senses. His shoulder slammed against a door and with a bit of fumbling he managed to get it open to drag Kavita inside. She moaned against his mouth when she found heated flesh, and Thor groaned before pressing her against a nearby wall and pulling her hand away.

“Not yet, duchess,” he rumbled, grabbing hold of her skirt that had only just been put back on moments ago. In truth, his member was too sensitive from his previous release to quite harden yet, not that she would notice.

“Thor…” she breathed, wrapping her legs around him. Ah, yes, this was going to be exciting. He leaned into her and his lips found the crook of her neck as his hands started to slide further and further up her thigh. Fandral would be dumbfounded in the morning that not only had he bedded the duchess once, but another time.

A putrid noise sounded from the bathroom and Thor immediately straightened.  Kavita was suddenly screeching and thrashing against him, demanding that he get away from her.

“You brought me to a room that is occupied, you idiot!” The lust in her eyes had flared to rage. “Unhand me, or my father will see you flogged!”

“No one is—“ He was cut off by another retch from the bathroom. Kavita shoved him away and scampered to the door, readjusting her clothes as she went.

Kavita snarled at him. “Bringing me in for a show, is it? Well, I’ll be sure to tell my companions to stay away from you!”

Thor tried to protest, to say that he had absolutely no idea what was going on and that this room was empty—it was supposed to be, at least. But Kavita slammed the door and ran off before he could so much as open his mouth. Her threat didn’t bother him—her knew quite a few of her companions that had offered to be in his company this evening.

Thor jerked with annoyance when he heard another disgusting noise from the bathroom and decided he should probably investigate. If it were a servant, he would wring their neck, sickness or not.  He strode to the bathroom and the door was already ajar, but only one lone candle was flickering inside.  He could hear shallow panting, quick and sickly. It hitched and an awful hiccupping noise filled the chamber.

“I demand to know who has ruined my night,” he growled. The panting resumed.

Thor had had enough. He called sparks to his fingers and sent them about the room in a bright light, lighting every candle in the room.

The warm glow revealed Prince Loki, lying in his own sick on the floor. His ruby eyes were fogged, and his mouth frothed ever so slightly at the corner of his lips.  His Jotun skin was so pale that it almost looked grey—definitely not a healthy color.

“Loki?”

The Jotun didn’t respond, he just kept staring at nothing and panting his throat raw. Thor backed away to leave; he didn’t really want anything to do with a Frost Giant that was under Tyr’s control. Should the warrior come upon him it would look as if Thor were trying to heal his slave himself.  Then Loki gasped and his body convulsed with obvious pain.

Thor decided it would be less honorable to leave Loki than it would be to be caught tending to him. So he carefully approached the panting Frost Giant and avoided stepping in vomit as he did so. Upon closer inspection, Loki looked a lot worse. His veins were almost completely hidden and Thor knew that every dead Jotun looked the same, no veins visible, just a pale blue body. It seemed whatever sickness Loki had been beginning to contract at the presentation of the spoils had progressed significantly in the past hours.

“What is wrong?” Thor asked. He knew Loki couldn’t answer, but maybe he could point to a spot. Thor had plenty of training in field medicine—something he had been forced to learn if he ever hoped to become the head of the Aesir army—but sickness was always a healer’s duty.  Loki made in incoherent groaning noise, but Thor saw his fingers twitch. Then, ever so slowly, Loki’s hand raised and pointed at the tub. Thor cocked a brow.

“Water?”

Loki groaned again, which Thor took as a yes. He hopped up to the sink and dumped the unused soap bar from the soap dish and began to fill it.  Something was certainly wrong, and he doubted a bit of water would fix it.  Oh well, as long as he got Loki into reasonable shape, Tyr could deal with him. 

Once the soap bowl was brimming, he turned off the faucet and grabbed a washcloth to try and wipe the bile off of the sick Jotun.

“I always thought your kind had miserable luck,” Thor muttered as he stooped down again. He dipped the washcloth in the water then gently pressed it to Loki’s lips.  Red eyes widened for a moment, but then relaxed again.  Thor made sure to be gentle—he didn’t want to make Loki retch again.

“Here.” He tossed the washcloth aside and slipped a hand beneath Loki’s head. Suddenly Loki burst to life again and hissed obscenely loud, snapping and clawing at him. Thor dropped the soap dish and water splashed all over Loki’s face. What brought that on?!? All he’d done was try to help him up!

Loki moved sluggishly backward, curling into a ball and pressing his head against the stone with a look of such pain it almost made Thor flinch. Then he remembered about Odin’s magic.

In Jotunheim, Frost Giants could not be touched or Aesir would become frostbitten. In Asgard, Odin had warded the realm for any Jotun who stepped on the Rainbow Bridge that their skin would lose its magic—but the Aesir counterattack would stay the same. Each touch to a Jotun outside of Asgard was painful to both parties, Aesir burned Jotunar and Jotunar froze Aesir. Touching Loki’s hair had still probably managed to burn him.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you.” Thor looked at the Jotun prince but Loki gave no response, he had gone distant again. Guilt was something that Thor always felt strongly, and even in this case he couldn’t help but want to right what he had done. Hurting Loki was not his intention at all.

He retrieved the soap dish and filled it up again, and grabbed the last remaining washcloth that hadn’t been covered in vomit, and crouched in front of the Jotun prince. Loki’s hair was mussed, with black strands falling over his eyes in a way that would actually be beautiful if he didn’t smell like stomach juices.  Thor held out the soap dish and washcloth, indicating that Loki could wash himself if he wanted to. The Jotun’s head swung to the right like a drunkard’s, and he started to fall over on his side. Thor almost reached out to catch him when he remembered that touching was not the best idea.

So he had to watch Loki slump to his right and hit the marble floor. Thor frowned and wetted the washcloth before squeezing it over Loki’s shoulder. He then flapped out the cloth and draped it awkwardly over the side of the other prince’s head.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Thor murmured. Then he stood up and quickly dashed out the door, reeking of sickness. The corridors were empty as he ran the short way to the guest armory and the guards let him through without asking questions. He selected thick leather gloves and slipped into a long-sleeved training tunic that was well padded to deter cuts when practicing knifework. Hopefully it would be enough to keep Loki’s skin from burning.

When he returned to what he now knew to be Loki’s chambers, he donned the gloves and the tunic, looking rather like an idiot. The washcloth had slipped from the Jotun’s face and was lying on the floor covered in phlegm—apparently Loki still had enough in his stomach to vomit again. Thor frowned, Loki looked just as bad, if not worse than when he had left. If the Jotun prince were to die on Asgard soil…Laufey would not hesitate to cut all political ties. Thor wouldn’t mind that, but Odin would.

He gently extended his gloved hand, and pressed it to Loki’s shoulder. The Jotun’s eyes flew open, momentarily panicked. Loki’s body began to quake with fear—something Thor doubted that the prince would have ever shown if not for being too weak to stop it.

“It is all right, I will not hurt you,” he soothed. He had new purpose in this now: saving Loki’s life.  The blue prince was still panting, but the breaths had grown quieter and faster—dangerously so. Loki bared his teeth as Thor carefully sat him up against the side of the tub, obviously condoning being touched. The soap dish hadn’t been moved, so he lifted it up again and pressed the metal rim to Loki’s lips. Loki tried to turn his head away, but was evidently too weak. If Loki wanted water why wasn’t he drinking it? Thor tipped the soap dish a little more, causing water to dribble from the Jotun’s pale lips.

Even in sickness Loki was oddly captivating in his exotic, Jotun way. Thor continued tipping up the soap dish until he saw Loki’s throat bob with a swallow. It was growing hot underneath all of his padding, but Thor didn’t mind. Though he would never admit it, he had always liked tending to wounded warriors. It felt good to have a life in his hands that he could save. Frigga often told him he should have been a healer, but each time Thor laughed at her. He would never be anything but a warrior and prince—eventually king.

Once the dish was empty of water, Thor leaned over the tub, but paused before turning on the water. Did Jotunar like to bathe in hot water, or cold? Whenever he had been sick he took a cold bath, so perhaps Jotunar liked hot ones? His hand lingered over the knob for hot. But if he filled the tub with hot water and Loki needed cold, he would have to waste time draining the tub and filling it all over again.  He bit his lip, not liking that he didn’t know what to do.

“Loki.” He prodded the prince with a boot. A soft exhale sounded beside him. “I’m running you a bath, should I fill it with hot water?”

A groan escaped the Jotun’s lips, but it didn’t sound like a yes or a no.

“Cold?”

Loki slowly nodded, though it seemed to take every ounce of his strength to do so. Thankful that he had an answer, Thor turned on the cold water. He was guessing that Loki wanted it as cold as possible.

Crouching back beside the other prince, Thor slipped his hands beneath Loki’s arms ad began to lift him. Thor was by far the strongest man in Asgard, and lifting Loki was far easier than it should have been. He dimly wondered if Loki had been fed at all. Tyr would have to see to that though, not he, as much as his protective instinct was kicking in.

Loki hissed softly as Thor lifted him off the floor and hooked an arm at the crook of Loki’s legs to better ease him into the slowly filling tub. Loki was weak and yet he still had the strength to snarl at him. Oddly enough, Thor found it more amusing than insulting.

Jotunar had such an inherent hatred towards Aesir—not that it didn’t go unreturned. Thor despised every Jotun he had ever met, but Loki had only made him lustful at first sight. Perhaps it was because of his unusual appearance and features that weren’t especially Jotun-like. Whatever it was, Thor only held the smallest dislike for the other prince—he was an enemy of Asgard after all.

As the water started to rise, Loki’s color began to return. His breaths grew longer and deeper, and his face relaxed.  Once it reached to Loki’s neck, Thor shut off the water and began cleaning up the vomit. He could have left it for the servants, but something told him that leaving it to fester all night was not a wise idea.  Cleaning had never been much of a hobby of his, but to Thor it was just and extension of making sure Loki was well enough to survive the night.

A long sigh broke the quiet and he looked up from scrubbing to see Loki combing his fingers through his raven locks and washing out the sickness that had stuck there. Gold was still  fastened all over in his hair, but Thor knew that most Jotunar slept in their jewelry except for pieces that were cumbersome.  The Aesir returned to his work with a slight smile and his breathing automatically quieted as if he knew Loki did not know of his presence.

Sure enough, when he stood up Loki scrambled back in surprise, splashing ice water over the front of his now-reeking tunic.  Thor gave a broad grin.

“Feeling better, I see.”

Loki’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Ah, yes, he was mute.

“Well, I’ll have you know that Tyr will be keeping a closer eye on you. I thought you dead when I came upon you.” Thor stretched and gave a loud yawn. Bedding that Vanir duchess had taken a considerable amount of his energy away. Kravir, whatever her name had been.

Loki didn’t look pleased, in fact, his eyes narrowed. Thor gave a hearty chuckle and knelt next to the tub. Loki really did look a lot better. His skin was a normal blue and his eyes alive and bright. Thor looked down at the water, then back to Loki.

“Being here, on Asgard—that is what caused you sickness, is it not?”

Loki looked away and sank further into the water until his hair created a churning cloud of black. Thor furrowed his brow. Asgard was in a cooler season, but apparently that was much too hot for Loki compared to Jotunheim. Other Frost Giants had never had much issue, but then again they were much bigger. Thor made a mental note to ask Frigga to ward Loki’s chamber. Well, he would ask Tyr to ask Frigga--not that he particularly cared for what happened to Tyr’s slave. He propped his chin on the rim of the tub.

“Well, princeling, you may thank me any time.” He gave a cocky grin.

To his surprise, Loki moved toward him, parting his lips ever so slightly as if they could kiss. Thor’s grinned widened. He hadn’t been expecting this. They couldn’t actually kiss, of course, but Thor parted his lips anyway, closing his eyes and waiting to feel Loki’s chilled breath on his lips.

Instead, he was whipped in the face with the wet washcloth. Thor yelped in surprise and reeled backward, shocked as his face began to redden. Had he not been covered in vomit and utterly exhausted, he would have strangled Loki then and there, but laughing was a better option for the moment, so that was what he did. Loki hissed at him, but Thor paid no mind.

“Just as feral as your brothers,” Thor chuckled. 

A new rage came into Loki’s eyes and suddenly Thor’s cheek erupted with splitting pain as the Jotun clawed him across the face.  It _hurt_ , and Thor swore he could feel the beginnings of frostbite, despite Odin’s magic.  His laughter cut short and he lunged, snatching Loki’s neck with a gloved hand. Ice water sprayed form the tub as Loki began to fight and claw at every bit of him, hissing and spitting and snarling. Thor’s tunic tore open in an instant and Loki raked his claw-like fingernails over the exposed skin of his arm with a loud hiss. It was akin to trying to pin a saber cat with one hand--for a Frost Giant so small, Loki was ruthless and unfathomably quick.

Thor’s arm began to bleed but he kept his hold and shoved Loki into the water. Never bring out the Odinson’s temper--what was Loki thinking? All sympathies were pushed aside as Thor submerged the Jotun prince, feeling the way Loki’s neck flexed as the prince desperately tried to breathe.  The scratching intensified for a moment and Thor’s blood began to cloud the water, but then Loki stopped squirming and fell limp.

Fearing Loki had died, Thor yanked his hand from the water, sapphire eyes blinking in wait.

After a tense moment, Loki breached the surface with a terrified gasp and lurched from the tub. Upon seeing that Thor was blocking the doorway, the Jotun smashed himself into the corner and jammed his head against the wall. Pain contorted his features, causing Thor’s eyes to soften, but not his demeanor.  His arm was battered, bleeding and swelling up from being so viciously attacked.  Damn, this was worse than any saber cat.

“Try that again and I _will_ drown you,” Thor growled. “Typical Jotun, trying to kill the hand that heals you.” He tried not to notice the blisters that were forming on Loki’s fingers from the burn of his Aesir skin. “I’ll spare your life again by not telling Tyr of your foolishness, but it will not happen a third time.”

Loki did nothing to respond but close his eyes. Thor also pretended not to notice that he was shivering again.

“Run another bath if you feel too warm. I hope you improve your manners by the time we break fast tomorrow, else you won’t be very happy here.” Thor clutched his torn arm and backed from the bathroom to head to the healing ward, where he was sure doctors were still awake tending to drunken last night injuries. Damned Laufeyson. 


	3. Swollen Hands, Bitter Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast in Asgard is not an enjoyable experience.

Loki spent the night nursing his wounds like a beaten dog. His fingers that were once slender and dexterous were now puffy and swollen. The skin shone and began to turn a bluish lavender as the blood collected underneath, until his clawed fingernails were swallowed up by swollen tissue. Damned Aesir. Thor, the shining prince, reduced to attempting to drown him in the tub for being nothing more than a Frost Giant. The texts recorded Asgard’s hatred for his race very well, seeing as the tomes were stolen from Asgard in the first place. Experiencing it firsthand was a little jarring though, even Loki would admit that. Though his mother told him that the Aesir would be treating him as an honored guest, Odin was the only one who had showed him any “kindness.”

He gingerly submerged his swollen hands into the freezing water and closed his eyes as pain travelled up his arms. It still felt like a rock had been shoved down his throat where Thor’s hands had clutched his neck, but he could thank the gods that the prince had been wearing gloves.

Instinct told him that Thor had been sent to nurse him back to health and to try to make him feel as though he could relax and be cared for.  It seemed that Aesir were as foolish as Farbauti said. Did they honestly expect him to fall for such a blatant trick? Odin likely caused him to contract the heat sickness just so he could send his beloved son to save the day. Loki couldn’t deny that he was no longer feeling ill, but he suspected that whatever spell had been cast upon him had been lifted.

Bending his fingers even the slightest bit made them pinch, and the pain was not even dulled by the near-freezing temperature that was slowly numbing them. This would not be an injury that would leave him in a few days. He had clawed at the golden prince for a good minute or two, which was plenty of time to blister the skin and swell his hands to the point of not being able to move. Hopefully the royalty of the palace would continue treating him as a “favored guest” long enough for his hands to heal. With his luck though, he doubted it. He wasn’t even being treated as a royal guest—the only things he’d received were a luxurious room that could hardly be called as such, and a place at Odin’s table. The room was distant from everyone else and that was about all he could say he liked about it. 

He sat at the tub with his hands in the water for the next few hours, and even managed to fall asleep propped against the cool stone.

 

 

When he woke, dawn’s light had begun to filter through the enormous windows in the bedchamber. Loki lifted his hands from the water and found that they were stiff, sore, and still very much swollen. The water hadn’t done much good, but he took comfort in the fact that if he hadn’t soaked them, they would be worse. Even so, he had to use his feet to drain the water that was still a rusty color from Aesir blood (probably the very thing that had hindered his healing process). 

Likely to Odin’s amusement, he could not use magic with his hands while they were in such a state. While a sorcerer, he was not skilled enough to only use mental power when conducting his spells.  He had less than twenty one winters of magic to boast of, which was not nearly enough to be able to do much more than simple tasks. Especially considering Jotnar were not supposed to be skilled with magic in the first place. His teachers had been elderly Jotun from the Age of New Winter, alive when the forests were more than just ice-coated pines. With little life in Jotunheim, came little magic.

He used a combination of elbows, forearms, and toes to turn the water back on again, making sure that it was ice cold before stopping up the drain. His clothing was effectively ruined with his own vomit, but he had inspected the dressers for weapons the night before and knew there was clothing to wear. Not that he would ever be caught wearing the clothing of an Asgardian. He was representing Jotunheim and his home realm did not obey those of other species, nor did they bend to their ways. Farbauti had given him one task, and he would see to it that she was pleased with him when the Jotnar came to claim him. He swallowed down the doubt that stirred at that thought.

Once bathed, he slipped from the tub and did not dry off—the heat of this wretched place would do that for him. Though Loki was usually the last to be seen walking about without clothing, he did so that morning as he strode to his bed. A massive bearskin was sprawled atop the mattress, and he cursed himself again for not being able to use his hands. A knock sounded at the door and he crouched to hide himself, but Tyr shoved open the door too early and caught a glimpse of him.

“Show yourself, princling,” the warrior barked.

Knowing it would only cause him pain to be refused, he stood up, fully exposed. Tyr’s eyes widened for a moment, but then Loki noticed that his gaze was lingering for too long. The Jotun tried to ignore it, but a sizzle of embarrassment began to make its way up his body. His hands remained behind his back as Tyr approached.

“Well, it seems you’re comfortable.” Eyes swept over him again, and Loki toes curled, but that was the only movement to show anything but his distaste for the great and powerful Tyr.  Red eyes flicked to the bearskin.

“That’s for sleeping under, runt. Do you not have fur blankets in your wretched excuse for a home?” Tyr fingered the fur, and Loki could begin to feel the heat radiating form his too-warm body.

Loki nodded, but it was pointless. Tyr knew very well that Jotunheim had blankets, and he also knew that Loki had no clothing.

“Here,” the warrior reached to his shoulder where a wolf’s muzzle was still etched in a snarl though it had been skinned. Tyr tore off the pelt and tossed it at Loki’s feet. It was hot from being on an Aesir, but thankfully not enough to burn.  The Jotun glared at him, but nodded once. Tyr didn’t notice, and instead brought a hand to hover over the curve of Loki’s hip, the way the Jotnar giantesses had done, only they had actually touched him.  His nostrils flared slightly, anticipating the pain that he knew would come. Tyr was an Aesir, and Aesir did not like admiring things from afar. They touched and took whatever they wished.

“Tyr,” a voice called form beyond the door that was still ajar.

Tyr drew his hand away quickly.  “Yes? What is it?”

A servant opened the door and started to say something, but his mouth only slackjawed at the sight of Loki standing naked. Loki swallowed, but kept his gaze level. Why would he not? This treatment was not unusual and was only uncomfortable because he had been caught unawares. 

Tyr growled low, a possessive noise that Loki did not like. “Get on with it, what do you want?”

“Ah, er—yes, of course, sir.  Fandral would like to speak with you before you break fast. “

“Can he not speak to me another time?” Tyr said as he started for the servant.

“Well, he insisted that I come to you immediately, there were a few items that were misplaced—“

“All right, all right. I will go to him now.” Tyr turned back to Loki, his face stern but his eyes still darkened. “Odin expects you at the table this morning, princling. You best hurry before you anger him.”

Loki’s eyes narrowed in response, but he could make no reply.

The door slammed shut with a dull thud. He immediately gasped, his chest heaving as though he had just come up for air after a swim. His hip was still warm and Tyr’s touch had been close enough to purple it. Fear was not something he was used to feeling so strongly.

 

 

The dining hall was massive compared to Jotunheim—though Loki had only ever eaten in the servants’ hall. Arched ceilings depicted Odin and his triumphs, and there were even a few depictions of Thor riding atop a white steed or being pulled by a goat-drawn chariot, slaying foes by the hundreds. Artists’ scaffolding lined the walls on the far side where a half-finished painting of the Odinson showed him looking out all off of Asgard’s blood-drenched splendor, all ripped from the hands of Loki’s people. He curled a lip in disgust as he strode for the center table. Each one was as long as the hall, brimming with food varying from venison to Idunn apples.

Loki had never seen a golden apple before, but he knew they were not for him, seeing as they extended the lifespan of those who ate them. Glares and hissing whispers followed him to the king’s end of the table. Odin looked up as Loki came to stand beside the king, and the Jotun dipped his head in greeting. Jotnar may have hated Aesir, but they also knew when to show respect. Odin nodded in return and motioned toward the only empty seat—the one beside Thor. Loki inhaled sharply at the sight of Thor’s bare arms and all of the exposed skin that he was certain would rub against him.

The wolf pelt Tyr had given him made a good loincloth, and his jewelry was all the rest of the clothing he needed. Now though, he wished he had found something to cover him completely to save him the brunt of Thor’s massive arms that had stopped shoveling food as the prince looked up at him. The events of the previous night were obviously still on the other prince’s mind and Loki cursed himself again. Harming the Odinson was only going to spur the beginning of his torment, he knew.

“Go on, Loki, sit.” Odin’s words rang through him as he carefully slipped into the seat beside Thor, breathing slowly as though it would somehow delay Thor’s movements.

“Good morning, Prince Loki.” Thor bared his teeth at him through a mouthful of food.

Loki quickly looked away, but his rising chest was giving away how stupidly frightened he was. He did not belong here, Helblindi would certainly have made it known already that who ever touched him would be asking for death. Loki was the hidden traitor-prince, helpless to do anything against Aesir onslaughts but take them. How pathetic.

Thor cocked a brow at him, looking to Loki’s empty plate as though it were infested with ice worms.  “Aren’t you hungry? Eat, my friend!” Thor snarled at him again and Loki looked straight ahead until Thor gave up and turned back to his meal. 

Finally, because he could stand being starved no longer, Loki lifted a hand from his lap to reach for a slab of red meat. An audible gasp sounded from the woman beside Thor, and she hurriedly whispered in the prince’s ear. Frigga, the Vanaheim woman who had become Odin’s wife—Thor’s mother, if he recalled correctly. As his blistered purplish hand took hold of the meat, he closed his eyes, forcing his tear ducts to suck back in what they had borne in his eyes. The pain was unbearable as he lifted the meat and quickly dropped it to his plate with a wet slap, breathing hard once the pain was gone.  By the gods, how did something so simple hurt so badly? It was as if venom had been injected into his hands and only activated when they moved or touched something.

Thor turned back to him with a pitiful look in his muddled blue eyes. Loki snarled in response, bearing his pointed teeth in return to what the other prince had done earlier.

“Loki, were you hurt?” Odin asked, his eyes narrowed, but curious.

Loki slipped his hand into his lap again, unable to stop from wincing as it slapped against his thigh.  Thor then reached over and cut a piece off of his meat before spearing it with a fork. Loki’s stomach growled, but he ignored it.

“Here, please eat. It will help you heal faster, “ Thor said, offering the fork. The fork that was still probably coated with burning Aesir saliva. Loki turned his head away, insulted. He was no infant, and the burns were Thor’s fault anyway!

With what pride he had left, he lifted his hand again, though it was still throbbing and screaming for him not to touch anything. Instead of reaching for a fork, he grabbed the whole slab of meat on his plate and shoved it into his mouth as quickly as he couuld. His teeth tore right through it, and he leaned forward to let the remaining part plop back onto the plate.

The meat itself tasted awful, it was like drinking burned blood that had texture to it. Nothing like they grey, gamey meat he was used to. The seasonings that had been added were revolting and Loki was sure that his starvation was the only thing that allowed him to swallow it. He knew better than to chew—Byleistr and other Jotnar were fond of waiting for him to do so before pouncing on him and prying his mouth open to spoon out the meat. There were a few times the spoon had gone to the back of his throat and scraped, causing him to vomit all over their hands, which in turn spurred a ruthless bout of kicking and clawing.

There. He was sure he could taste the bit of poison he had probably ingested, but even so, there was food in his stomach that would stave him until lunch, perhaps longer. Yes, he would likely have to wait until supper, as his immunity needed to be built slowly.

After a few more minutes of him not eating, Thor took the liberty to shove more food onto his plate.

“You’ll starve if you only eat that much,” Thor said as he slid a piece of leaf around on his plate--once again with the fork that was covered in his own saliva. Loki swallowed, then returned his gaze to the windows at the far end of the hall. The false cordiality was a terrible act—especially considering that Loki had met the true Thor the night before, the one that liked to drown the sick.

Thor frowned, then leaned closer. Loki smarted, remembering the night before where he had tested just what Thor was after by trying to kiss him. The prince wanted him just like Tyr did, and Loki had plans to pit the two men against each other long enough for him to escape.  It wouldn’t be too difficult, considering both seemed to have possessive natures. His only fear was that they would be wild for him afterward, and if he was not gone by the time there was a winner…he swallowed thickly.

“Are you feeling better?” The words came in the form of piping hot steam in his ear. He jumped away, nearly crashing into the nobleman on his opposite side.

A swollen hand clapped to his ear out of instinct, and he actually yelped at the pain before retreating his hand. Dread was threatening to cripple him, and his throat was closing with despair. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Did they always have to hurt and cause pain—was there not a single shred of hospitality they could show him? No, evidently there wasn’t.  He was nothing but a glorified slave, a whore, a spoil of war. That and a plaything for the prince of Asgard to toy with and burn as he liked.

Thor turned to him and there was something cold in his eyes. “Come with me after the meal is finished, all right?”

The meaning was clear. Loki closed his eyes, tears brimming there against his will. He hadn’t done well enough; he hadn’t fought hard enough to send Thor away. He had submitted unwillingly and unknowingly. His teeth cut into his bottom lip to stop it from quivering, his mother’s words ringing in his ears in a warning he had not been able to heed: _“If you so much as hint to submission they will bind you and mount you as their prize.”_

He nodded slowly, trying to keep still and prepare himself for what was sure to come. His hands would be the least of his problems now, if that were any compensation.

“Good.” Thor snarled at him again, but his eyes were soft. “You have nothing to fear, Loki. Why are you upset?” The snarl faded to a frown.

Thor was looking at him like he was a child. Loki didn’t want to look at him anymore, but he knew from past experience that it would not do anything to stop the shame that was sure to come. Less than a full day in Asgard and he had already failed _.  I’m sorry, Mother. I’m so sorry._

He gave a thick swallow and resettled himself, blinking away the tears in his crimson eyes. If every movement didn’t hurt so damned much, maybe he would have been able to keep himself composed. Loki could only imagine what he would be like come tomorrow. Loki Laufeyson, whore to the Aesir.  He shook his head and stared down at his plate, now wishing the meal would last forever.

 


	4. Mother Knows Best

 When Loki didn’t answer him, Thor looked down at his plate. Something was certainly wrong, but he didn’t know what he had done to cause such a reaction. Loki’s lip was trembling ever so slightly, and his eyes were glassy as though Thor had just smacked him across the face. Frigga nodded to him once, worry etched on her brow. His mother was far more caring than he was, something that had greatly influenced his father’s decision to take her as his wife. She was worried about Loki, and Thor couldn’t help but have some concern himself. Upon seeing the swelling of the Jotun’s hands, he had been wrenched with guilt for his actions. Tyr should have tended to them, but hadn’t.

So he didn’t speak to Loki after that, and instead spent him time conversing with his father about the south border. Destri, the Vanir King, had rather teasingly pointed out that the borders of the south passage were crumbling. It was a lighthearted jab, but one that was said in warning. They had strong ties with the Vanir, and Odin and Thor had no doubt that Destri mentioned it out of friendship. Vanaheim and Asgard were both in conflict with Jotunheim, but the Frost Giants only had eyes for Asgard, so the Vanir had less of a quarrel with them.

Thor continued on his fifth plate as talk turned to Jotunheim. He cast glances at Loki, but the Jotun had not moved an inch, though his eyes were closed again. None of the food on the prince’s plate had been touched. Thor made a mental note to ask the cooks to prepare something for lunch that was of Jotnar influence, then quickly scolded himself. Loki was not his stead; it was Tyr’s duty to tend to the prince’s needs. 

Thor was unsure that they should be discussing Jotunheim with Loki there, but Odin seemed indifferent about it and continued anyway.

The war with Jotunheim was not called a war. It had no name, and Odin didn’t think it needed one. Laufey was bitter and cruel—as all Frost Giants were—and if given enough power, the Frost King would not hesitate to destroy every realm in existence. So Asgard kept him weak. Odin had considered waiting out Laufey’s rule for Helblindi, but when the eldest prince proved to be a mirror image of his father…Odin had given up on that plan. Byleistr was no better, though he did have a sound head on him.

“Perhaps there is a way peace can be achieved yet,” Odin murmured after swallowing a mouthful of apple.

“Father, Laufey does not listen to reason, nor do the princes,” said Thor.

“We have a prince. There will be terms for his release.”

Thor sighed, glancing at Loki once again. He knew the Jotun was listening, but Loki kept staring at the far wall ahead of him as if composing himself for something instead.

Thor shook his head as he turned back to his father. “Yes, but Loki is not the crown prince. Laufey will not renegotiate a war on the basis of his youngest son.”

“I suppose, but Farbauti may feel differently,” Odin said, taking a sip of mead.

Frigga excused herself from the table then, kissing her husband on the cheek before pressing a hand to Thor’s shoulder, nodding to him once. She quickly exited with her long gown trailing behind her.

“Please tell Tyr that I will return Loki to him shortly,” Thor announced as he stood from the table. The Jotun flinched at the movement, then bit his cheek as if to reprimand himself.

“If he should be foolish enough to ask me, I will,” the king answered with a chuckle.

“Come, Loki, we must go quickly before Tyr comes looking.” The last thing Thor wanted was Tyr thinking that he had reconsidered by finding him and Loki walking the corridors together alone. The Jotun prince stood and nodded once to Odin before turning to face him.

Thor blinked in momentary shock at the deep loathing he found in those blood red eyes.  Loki looked to be strangling him in his mind, but there was fear hidden in the gritting of his teeth.

Thor waited until they were clear of the dining hall to address it, turning to Loki rather suddenly. A look of dread overcame the Jotun prince, though it was quickly replaced with a fierce snarl as if Thor had turned to attack him. Though Thor didn’t mind being feared, that only applied on the battlefield. Loki looked downright terrified of him for no reason, as much as the prince was trying to hide it.

“I know not what you think of me, but I do not mean you harm. There is nothing to fear.” He tried to sound genuine, because he was being genuine, but Loki either didn’t notice or didn’t care.  The Jotun merely hissed at him, the only noise he could seem to manage. Thor sighed. Of course, why would Loki believe him after what had transpired the night before?

“I…apologize for my actions last night.” He looked away, suddenly interested in the tapestry on the wall. Apologies did not come easily for him, but attempting to drown Loki—who had probably only fought back out of instinct, just as he would have—deserved one. “You are a prince, and I did not treat you as one. Allow me to right my wrongs.”

A glance up showed that Loki wasn’t buying it. The prince did not make any gesture to say no though, which Thor took as a small victory.  He straightened, motioning down the hall.

“There is someone we must see.”

 

 

 

Frigga’s study always meticulously clean, decorated with fine gold and amber. She liked to accent it with pale green, her favorite color. The two colors twine with each other in the drapes, and her chair was accented with springs of the same pallet. Her desk was carved of whitewood, as was every piece of furniture in her space. It always calmed Thor to enter there; the soft light reminded him of his mother’s warm smile and infinite kindness. She was the opposite of Odin’s commanding presence, instead Frigga held an air of trustworthiness and honesty that influenced all who came into her presence. She was indeed powerful in her own way.

Frigga strode to them and dipped her head in greeting to Loki first before her own son. “I am glad you have decided to join me. Thor must be better at convincing that I thought.”

The Aesir prince was amazed at his mother’s flawless way of reading exactly what Loki was portraying and using it to gain his trust. Loki cocked his head, surveying her, but finally nodded in return.  The Jotun was already relaxing and they had only been in the room for a few heartbeats!

“Come, let us see about your hands,” Frigga extended her hands in a gesture for Loki to take them. The Jotun backed away abruptly, and Thor sidestepped out of the way to make sure Loki didn’t run into him and cause more burns.

Frigga didn’t look surprised at all at Loki’s reaction, and smiled warmly instead. “I am Vanir, Laufeyson. My touch will not harm you.”

All was still for a few moments until the younger man finally extended his swollen palms to place them on Frigga’s. When their skin touched, Loki flinched, but then opened his eyes again with a glint of surprise therein. Thor beamed, pleased that his plan to introduce the two had worked.

“You practice magic, do you not?” Frigga asked, her hazel eyes flashing to indicate that she already knew the answer.

Loki nodded.

“Perhaps when your spell lifts, I can teach you spells from Vanaheim. Jotunheim is not kind to sorcerers, you will find Asgard much better for casting magic.”

Thor wasn’t so sure his mother should be telling Loki that, but kept his mouth shut. Saying anything would only cause Loki to think he hated him, though he doubted the loathing had changed since earlier. But it was change in that Loki wasn’t currently snarling at him.

Frigga‘s hands began to glow, and gradually the swelling ebbed away, leaving Loki’s hands blue and slender as they had been before. Loki nodded his thanks, keeping a reserved expression, but his eyes were wary.

“You are fortunate that your burns did not extend past the skin. Wounds of a magical nature, such as those, can only be healed by the touch of a powerful sorcerer. Well, sorceress, in my case.” His mother laughed softly, tugging Loki forward. The Jotun immediately pulled against it, but Frigga only cocked a brow at him. “None of that, Laufeyson. You mustn’t insult your healer.”

Loki reluctantly followed and Thor took up behind him, watching the way Loki’s shoulders moved when Frigga gave another gentle tug. A part of him wanted to be in his mother’s place, but he ignored that thought.

  They ventured to the Queen’s bookshelves—an entire wall of her study had been dedicated to her tomes. The books reached to the very top of the ceiling, and all of the spines had ben magicked to appear in different shades of gold. There was some pattern to it that Thor didn’t know, but Loki seemed to. Since Loki’s arrival Thor had never once seen him look close to happy, but now his mouth fell slightly open at the sight of all of the books.

Frigga laughed and it rang through the room like bell chimes. “I suspect Jotunheim does not have a very wide selection of books, does it? I suppose that is partially my fault, as it is what I often request Odin to fetch for me during his bothersome raids.”

In any other circumstance, Loki probably would have attacked her for saying something about Jotunheim, raids, but Thor could see only amusement on his face.

Frigga turned her palm and spread her fingers and a book glided from the shelf, changing from gold to dark blue as it landed in her hand.  His mother blew dust from the cover and presented it to Loki. The Jotun’s eyebrows rose in shock and quickly snatched the book from her hands before running his finger along the indentations.

“That is all of our knowledge of your people, Loki,” Frigga said. She cast another summoning spell and a red and gold tome of far greater thickness appeared before her. “And this is correct information on Aesir. I have a feeling Laufey does not keep accurate accounts.”

“Mother, I am not sure—“

“Hush, Thor,” Frigga murmured with a glance to Loki. The Jotun prince did not seem to have heard the exchange, and was flipping through the brightly colored pages of Aesir history. Blue fingers traced the faces of each Aesir depicted, marveling at the colors. It was a book Thor had read as a young boy during schooling. It held many Aesir secrets that a Jotun did not need to know.

“And, one last book to keep you occupied. You will find Tyr does not often visit his…guests.” She handed Loki a small black book with gold runic engravings on the cover. A spellbook. The last thing Loki needed to be learning were spells. “When you have finished with them, Thor will happily bring you here to select more.”

Loki nodded, but he was still distracted with the book about Aesir. After a moment he shut the cover and took the spellbook, clutching all three to his bare chest. He then took Frigga’s hand and brought it to his mouth.

“You are welcome,” the Queen replied with a nod.  

She smiled, and Loki averted his gaze.

“No, Loki,” Frigga said gently, laying a hand on his arm. “A smile is not a an ill gesture. It is a sign of happiness.”

Thor blinked—had Loki not known what a smile was? What it meant? Jotnar smiled just as Aesir did, how had Loki not learned that? Loki blinked and his lips twitched, but he did not try it.

“Tyr will be looking for you, it is time to return to your chambers,” Thor said, interrupting their goodbyes.  Loki glared at him, but it was not as strong as it was before, or so he hoped.  Thor motioned to the door and Loki strode past him without so much as a glance, gripping his books as though Thor might try to snatch them away.

Thor turned to follow, but Frigga stopped him. “You must be careful with him. He may seem weak and hostile, but he is very powerful.”

The thunderer cocked a brow. Loki Laufeyson did not exude power at all. “Mother, he is lighter than air, and not strong enough to best me.”

“Not all strength comes from muscle, my son,” Frigga countered.

He rolled his eyes. “All right, Mother, I will heed your warning.”

“And Thor,” his mother called after he took a few strides, “he is not a normal Jotun. He is broken in many ways, and trusts no one.  Do not fault him for it.”

“Fault him? He is Tyr’s, I will not be—“

“Go, he is waiting for you.” Frigga gave him a little shove, effectively stopping his retort. Thor huffed, but relented at stepped out into the hall after wishing his mother goodbye. Sure enough, Loki was propped against the wall, sifting through the spellbooks and mouthing words. He looked up when Thor approached and, much to Thor’s surprise, fell into step beside him as they walked back toward Loki’s room.  The prince was staring straight ahead, but running his fingers over the grooves of the tomes. Thor smiled at him and for the first once, Loki didn’t snarl back.


	5. Unspoken and Not Explained

A week passed and Thor did not visit Loki. The Aesir knew to keep his distance from another man’s charge and Tyr had already exchanged a few harsh words with him when Thor had returned Loki to his chambers with an armload of books. Thor told himself that he didn’t mind, but as the week progressed it became apparent that Loki Laufeyson was not just attractive to him alone. Maids and warriors alike visited the royal table at every meal, sharing pointless news and asking questions that were clearly meant to keep Odin talking so that they could longer stare at the Jotun prince. Loki didn’t seem to notice though, he was always sitting with a book in his lap, staring down to read what little bits of text he could see from beneath the table. Thor found it more aggravating than with Volstag chewed with his mouth full.

Each time he tried to engage Loki in conversation, the prince would stare past him, his mind elsewhere. Thor, who usually had the charisma and social expertise to hold a conversation with even the most boring of people, had to give up each time. He didn’t expect Loki to actually say anything--the spell was still in effect--but he thought that Loki would at least acknowledge that he was speaking. Even so, their “conversations” were few and far between, a brief pause in the hallway or a few words at the supper table. Loki always returned to his books as quickly as possible.

In fact, Loki was near mad over his tomes. Thor knew for sure that the young prince had already read through the three Frigga had given him--he noticed that Loki was at the end of the book one day and halfway through it the next. But the Jotun seemed intent on memorizing every page, running his fingers along the ink as if expecting to literally absorb the words. It made Thor uncomfortable. Loki could easily be learning how best to come back and kill all of them when he became king. Frigga never seemed worried though, and sometimes Thor saw her in the hallways explaining something to Loki, who was always listening intently to her.

Odin, on the other hand, was growing more and more concerned. Thor could see it in the way he ate less at every meal and stared at Loki as though he might suddenly turn into Jormungandr. Thor knew why. Laufey had not made any contact with them whatsoever--it was as if Loki were some unimportant Frost Giant grunt. There was no doubt that Loki was royal, the markings on his skin were too elaborate for him to be normal. The question was why Loki’s parents were not even bothering to ask whether or not he was even still alive. Each day without word, the suspicion grew about the prisoner-prince.

********  
  
  


Fandral laughed outright, but still managed to block Mjolnir from hitting him the chest. “You fancy him!”

“I do not,” Thor growled, pushing more weight onto his hammer. Fandral grunted, then jumped out of the way, sending the Aesir prince landing flat on his face in the sand of the training arena. Thor thanked the gods that this was a private training spar, Fandral’s hooting laughter was horrifying enough.

They were speaking of Loki. Thor had made the mistake of mentioning his unease about not conversing with him for almost a week. Of course, Fandral had seen right through it.

“I figured as much. Sigyn walked right in front of you before lunch today and you didn’t even look at her!” said Fandral, extending a hand to help him up. Thor slapped him away, standing up himself and spitting sand out of his mouth.

“I do not fancy him. I’m just concerned. There has been no expressed intent to have him rescued.” That much was true, Thor was concerned about the fact that their valuable prisoner wasn’t proving to be so valuable.

Fandral snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re concerned because Tyr seems to have realized what he has.”

Thor huffed, but didn’t refute him. It would be pointless, Fandral could see through any lie he conjured. The warrior was right, Thor was also upset about Tyr taking a new interest in his warprize. The one-handed warrior had noticed the infatuated gazes from other Aesir, and thus he never left Loki alone for very long. Tyr either had him locked up in his bedchamber or accompanied him through the halls wherever he went. Loki acted as if he didn’t notice the warrior tailing him, occasionally shooting Thor a glance and blinking at him while Tyr’s shadow lingered behind.

“I have no interest in Tyr’s charge,” Thor said finally, brushing the dust from his trousers.

Fandral stuck his sword in the sand at his feet, leaning on it like a cane. “Do not mark me a fool, Thor. You know, if you just asked, I am sure Tyr would give you control of him.”

“Not willingly, I would need to order him to do it,” Thor grumbled. Tyr was just as stubborn as he was, and ordering him to give up Loki would be a hostile action because a warrior could never deny a prince’s request.

“Then perhaps there is another way. A spar perhaps?”

Thor shook his head with a grin. “I would beat him to the dirt and he knows it.”

Fandral chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “A trade?”

The thunderer quirked a brow. “What do I have that Tyr would want?”

“Fenrir.”

A silence settled between them. Fenrir was the wolf Thor had captured some centuries ago, larger than a horse. He had intended to kill it, but found that the wolf had a prey drive like no hunting dog he had ever seen. It was smart too, able to track dragons in flight and it knew where to trap boar and other prey. Fenrir was the best hunter in the realm by a longshot, no other beast compared. Thor liked Fenrir too, there was something about the wolf that drew him to it--he had never known what it was. Perhaps it was the fact that the wolf was fiercely loyal and had saved his life more than once.

Tyr wanted Fenrir, that much was known throughout the realm. But Tyr wanted Fenrir to be a wardog, one to slaughter and kill men in droves; not to hunt.

“No. Fenrir would not listen to him anyway,” Thor muttered.

“All the better reason to trade him. It wouldn’t have to be forever, just until Loki goes back to Jotunheim, after you’ve had your fun,” the warrior said with a shrug.

For some reason, Thor was annoyed by that comment. “Loki isn’t a wench, Fandral.”

Fandral’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re right, he’s a prisoner.”

Thor swallowed thickly, nodding once. “Right. But he is also a prince.”

The sword was pulled from the ground, but Thor didn’t pay any attention to it. Loki was just a prisoner, not anything more. Having his fun--that was all he would do. Even so, it made him uncomfortable to think of taking anyone against their will. He didn’t think he could, not even with a Jotun--a Frost Giant, a Purpleblood--prisoner. Even though he wanted Loki like nothing else. He’d come to accept that what he felt for the younger prince was lust, heightened by the fact that others found Loki just as desirable as he did. Lust, that was all.

A blade pressed to his neck and he jumped. Fandral cocked a brow, lifting the end of his sword to tap against Thor’s shoulder armor.

“I do not know what you are pondering, friend, but I do know this: Loki will return to Jotunheim. He will hate us just as every Jotun does, because that is how it will always be.” Fandral shook his head, lowering his sword only to clap a hand to Thor’s other shoulder. “If you ask me, I would say that Loki was imprisoned on purpose. And if I may be so frank, your mother has provided him with every resource a spy would ever need.”

Fandral gave him a friendly shake, then headed toward the bathhouse. Thor stared at the rough sea of sand at his feet, blinking hard. Everything clicked all at once in his head. A spy. Loki Laufeyson was a spy.

********  
  


Thor was never one for keeping emotions hidden, unless he was in the company of those he didn’t know. Thus, at supper, his mother took all of two seconds to notice that he was upset.  Loki had not yet arrived, but he would come with Tyr, as warriors often showed up late.

“Something is bothering you,” Frigga commented as she sat down.

Odin looked up from his plate, immediately interested in the conversation. His father’s worry was all too visible and Thor feared that the news he would share would cause the Allfather to erupt.

“Yes,” he answered flatly, avoiding his parents’ gazes. Frigga exhaled, shifting back in her chair to drop the conversation, but Odin would have none of it.

“You are in our counsel, tell us, my son.” It was obvious in Odin’s tone that there would be no backing down, so Thor cleared his throat and leaned over across the table.

“Fandral has brought a troubling thought to me. He thinks that the reason Loki is here is to spy.” Thor swallowed thickly, flicking his gaze to his mother. Frigga sighed, shaking her head, but Odin nodded.

“That was my suspicion,” said the Allfather. “It explains why we have not heard of Loki, though I know he is a prince. He is small for a Jotun, Laufey would hate to have his realm ruled by a runt.”

The word pierced Thor though it was meant for Loki.  Just a week ago they regarded Loki as a guest, but he supposed his father’s suspicions did have clout. Thor had never heard of there being a third prince of Jotunheim.

“He is no spy,” Frigga said in a sharp whisper. “This realm terrifies him. We terrify him. If he were a spy he could have taken my books and hid away with magic.”

“Mother, he is trying to memorize your books. I’ll wager he has read the Bok Aesir a dozen times now,” Thor rumbled, trying his best to keep his voice low.

“Being thorough is not a crime. He wishes to learn,” Frigga retorted.

“We must keep a closer watch of him,” Odin said with a nod to Thor. “See about obtaining him from Tyr.”

Thor grinned, despite the serious mood. “I plan to loan him Fenrir in return.”

Frigga blinked in surprise, obviously not expecting such an offer from him.

“Tyr departs for Jotunheim in four days time. Loki travels with him almost everywhere--should Loki learn his weaknesses and share them to Jotunheim...I do not know if I can knowingly send Tyr to his death,” said Odin, sipping at his wine.

Thor nodded once as the crowd began to chatter excitedly, signalling Loki’s arrival. The Jotun was buried in a book, as usual, paying no mind to the glances and heated whispers being exchanged between men and women alike. It made Thor bristle with contempt for them, mirrored by Tyr. The warrior bowed swiftly to Odin, clenching his hands to fists before walking away toward the warrior’s table.

Loki slipped into his seat, placing his book (the Bok Aesir, again) right on his plate. The food appeared at the tables then, heaping piles of fruit and meat and sugars alike. Thor inhaled a few slabs of beef before glancing over at Loki, who still hadn’t moved. Thor was not going to let the Jotun read that book anymore.

He reached over and snatched the book away. Loki hissed in protest and reached for it, but Thor managed to keep it just out of reach, switching it to his other hand and stuffing it under his right leg to keep it away from Loki.

“Eat and I’ll give it back,” Thor promised, motioning to the food.

Loki plucked a grape from a bushel and popped it in his mouth. A blue hand extended, a silent way of asking for the book.

Thor couldn’t help but chuckle at that, momentarily forgetting what had just been discussed. “Eat a meal.”

Loki exhaled, but knew he wasn’t going to win. So he reached for the bushel of grapes and added a few strips of dried venison to his plate. The young prince seemed to have a taste for stringy meat, which was fine with Thor--he hated it. Well, he would only eat it if nothing else was offered. He hated no food more than he loved eating.

“Has the day treated you well?” Thor asked after downing a tankard of ale.

To his surprise, Loki shrugged, still looking down at his plate.

“Nothing too bad, I hope.” Thor chewed slowly, half-expecting Loki to say something.

Instead, Loki pushed a grape around on his plate with a fork. He looked up after a moment, meeting Thor’s eyes. There was something in the scarlet depths that he couldn’t place, but it didn’t appear to mean anything of importance. Loki sighed then, and shook his head.

“Well, I am glad to hear it.” He resumed eating, but stopped before he put a second spoonful of soup in his mouth. “I’m afraid the realm does not care for your silence. Quite a few maidens have asked me if you find them unattractive, as if that is the reason you do not speak to them.”

Loki gave a short laugh.

Thor dropped his spoon, sending a splash of hot soup onto his tunic. The Jotun quickly composed himself, but a hint of a smile remained on his lips as Thor’s heart started slamming in his chest--and not from the pain of the hot soup scalding his skin. He had never even seen Loki smile before, let alone laugh.

Then he realized that the dining hall had gone near silent. All eyes on Loki were shocked, all eyes on Thor were hostile. Thor pretended not to notice, but was beside himself with triumph.

Slowly, the room began to pick up to normal conversation level, prompting Thor to speak again.

“There are even rumors that Tyr fancies you, an utterly ridiculo--” He stopped when he saw the fear rush through Loki’s eyes at the mention of the one-handed warrior. Thor’s eyes narrowed immediately, his voice dropping. “Loki, has Tyr done anything to you?” He would wring Tyr’s neck if he so much as touched the Jotun prince.

Loki made no move to respond and instead popped another grape into his mouth.

“Loki, please answer me. I will not stand for you to be harmed in any way, you are a prince, not a--”

The Jotun shook his head, looking over to where Tyr was sitting in the western side of the hall. Thor refrained from breathing a sigh of relief, though he was scolding himself for even saying what he did.

“Here, take your book.” He shifted in his seat--careful to not accidently touch Loki--and pulled up the tome.

Before he could hand it over though, Loki leaned over him, extending a hand to grasp the red cover. Thor froze in his spot, locking eyes with Loki, only inches from him. Thor’s lips parted to say something, but his heartbeat was too loud for him to think of anything funny or charming in that moment. For the first time, he saw no discomfort, hatred, or fear in the crimson eyes of the younger prince. Only calmness and a lick of mischief in Loki’s tiny smile.

Then he realized that the Jotun was tugging at the book, and that he had not let go.

**“Oh, I apologize,” Thor blubbered, completely caught off guard. Loki took his prize and shoved his plate out of the way to begin reading, leaving Thor dazed and wondering what in the Nine Realms had happened inside his chest just then. Whatever it was, Thor knew now that Tyr would not be in charge of Loki much longer.**


	6. God of Deceit

                        

Loki looked up from his book to see Thor entering the library with a scowl on his face. That was certainly interesting. Loki was concealed by a bookshelf, out of sight. He closed his book after laying a ribbon between the pages as Thor approached one of the scribes, trying his best to whisper. A smirk crossed his lips at the fact that the golden prince could still be heard from some distance away. Though Loki was no eavesdropper, he had nothing better to do than listen to what was being said. It wasn’t as if Thor was trying to be very quiet about it.

“—I need them prepared by this evening,” Thor said and Loki heard the rustle of papers being handed over.

“Of course, my prince,” the scribe replied curtly.

“I only wished to have him under Tyr’s control for a few weeks.”

Loki’s brow quirked. They were talking about him?

“And shall I allow him to attend the battle in Jotunheim? He would be a valuable asset. He might even be inclined to take the heads off of a few Frost Giants,” the scribe said.

A battle in Jotunheim? Loki’s brow furrowed. Odin was supposed to be waiting for Laufey to inquire about him; to set up a deal to receive the Jotnar’s lost prince. Of course, Loki was no prince of value, but surely his family would ask for him to return soon, even if it was only to convince Odin that their could be talk of peace. But then again, the Aesir had never been ones for reason and attacking his home realm would be a nightmare.  Laufey had been given enough time to put together a suitable army, but his brothers would be at the head of the fray, rushing into battle with reckless abandon, just as Thor would do. Loki had sworn to his mother that he would restore Jotunheim’s name. That he would protect his brothers.  So no, he would not be inclined to take the heads off of his own kin—did they think he had become their ally?

“No. He will stay here, he would not kill anyone anyway. The mutt would more likely injure Tyr than a Frost Giant.” Thor chuckled and the scribe joined him.

So Thor thought him a mutt. Loki swallowed, but his throat had constricted too tightly. That meant the Aesir prince had figured out about his heritage—that he was the runt, the illegitimate son of Laufey, the one who had cursed his own mother and nearly gotten her killed because of his foolishness. Perhaps he also knew that Laufey would not be looking for him, that he was nothing more than a lowly serf in terms of Jotnar society.

For some reason, it made him feel as thought he had been flogged. Thor would no longer smile at him at the supper table or snatch his books away in order to make him eat. Thor would not try to vie for his attention any longer.

Loki took a quiet step backward before slipping into the main aisle of the library, clutching his book to his chest. He had to warn his mother. He had to find a way to contact her and warn her of the attack before anything happened to—

“Loki!”

Thor’s voice was so loud that Loki thought for sure that the bookshelves had shaken.  He paused in mid-step, turning his head the slightest bit to catch a glimpse of the Aesir.

“I thought I might come across you here,” Thor said, lengthening his stride until they were walking side by side.

Loki narrowed his eyes. If Thor thought that he was being in any way deceptive, he was sorely mistaken. He wished that he could speak, just to lash out at the blundering oaf. Thor was acting strangely, he was standing close enough that Loki could feel the blistering heat of his skin, causing him to immediately edge away. As usual, Thor persisted and stepped even closer.

“I wanted to inform you of something.”

Loki stopped abruptly, leveling his eyes at the prince. The only escape was just ahead of him, but Thor quickly moved to block the way, grinning at him like a fool. Loki took a step back. This was not good at all—if Thor wanted to do something to him, no one in the library would notice or care. He needed to get out and tell his mother of the battle.

Thor lifted his hands in a gesture of submission, but it didn’t help Loki calm down. 

“I wanted to inform you that you will be under my charge for the remainder of your stay. As soon as Tyr signs the documents I have prepared, you will move into the chambers beside my own.”

He said it with such a happy tone, one of victory. Likely the same tone that he used when holding up a severed head of a Frost Giant, after crushing their palace with that hammer of his. Victory.

Loki opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out when he tried to speak, so he shut it again, fuming silently. He had no wish to be under Thor’s charge, to be held prisoner and displayed as some sort of trophy.

Thor frowned. “Does that upset you?”

Loki nodded curtly and tried to slip under Thor’s arm, but the prince was quick and Loki narrowly escaped brushing skin with him.

“I thought you did not like Tyr. He will be off in battle anyway—and I will allow you to read all hours of the day except during mealtimes, I promise,” Thor said.

Loki blinked, his eyes quickly looking over the Aesir. He was dressed in sparring clothes, but wasn’t sweaty yet, indicating that he was heading off to the arenas. The sight of Thor was familiar to him now—even from a distance he could tell if it was the Prince of Asgard or just another warrior. Of course, he knew Tyr just as well. 

Tyr. His loyal charge. Their interactions together had become more and more uncomfortable in the past week or so, just as Odin had become less and less interested in him. He wore longer furs now, to cover the burn marks on his hips where Tyr touched him. It was incredibly painful, but at least the warrior had the sense to inflict his wounds in inconspicuous places that the rest of the palace would not notice. The scars were nothing more than handprints or lines from where Tyr’s finger had traced the inner part of his thigh. Loki had grown used to it after the first few days and didn’t fight when he caught scent of his skin burning away. He was a prisoner, at least Tyr treated him like one.

“I had thought you might be…happy to stay in my company,” Thor murmured, looking at the floor.

Loki’s throat closed, imagining what kind of terrors would await him when Thor stumbled into his chambers after a night of drink. A thousand times worse than Helblindi, he was sure. At least Tyr had the sense to stay with women of his own species when he was intoxicated. A spoiled prince would have no such politeness. Loki swallowed, shaking his head slowly.

Thor’s body slacked slightly, completely deflated in a matter of seconds. “Oh. Well, it cannot be changed now, I’m afraid.” The Aesir shrugged pitifully ad Loki felt a stirring of…was that sympathy? He clutched his book tighter to his chest.

“ I will see you later on then,” Thor said with a nod.

Loki dipped his head slightly out of sheer politeness and the two princes parted ways, Thor to the arenas and Loki to Frigga’s chambers to gather a few more spellbooks. His mother needed to be warned.

 

 

 

After supper, Loki had been given plenty of time to think about the news he had heard that morning.   Tyr stopped by his room before going out to drink the night away, then Loki slipped from his chambers. The palace was quiet—most of the warriors that were going into battle were out in the taverns or celebrating their coming victory in the dining hall.

He concealed himself with a simple invisibility spell and headed to the royal wing, slipping past the guards without any trouble. Ornate doors signified the chambers of Thor Odinson, decorated with golden depictions of war, of Mjolnir, and battles grand. Loki adjusted the furs at his shoulders and carefully opened the door to find Thor sitting at a desk made of rich wood. Loki blinked—he’d been expecting to walk in on a session of drunken lovemaking or to find the room empty. Instead, the Aesir was poring over maps of Jotunheim and studying books titled with various Jotun terms. Loki lifted the invisibility spell.

Thor sat up and looked over with a shocked look on his face. “Loki?”

He nodded and stepped closer, his footsteps near silent.

The Aesir prince cleared his throat, standing up quickly and stepping in front of the maps _. Concealing his plans,_ Loki thought.  “Is everything all right?”

Loki nodded.

“Pardon my surprise, you have never visited—“

Loki extended a hand, covered in a glove made of Bulrag skin. Thin, but well insulated. His fingers came to Thor’s face, tracing the curve of his jaw. Ruby eyes watched as the thunderer tensed, a soft gasp leaving his lips.  Loki’s thumb ran along Thor’s lower lip, fascinated that a man of such power could be rendered so helpless by something so simple.

“I thought you did not want any of this,” the thunderer breathed. “I thought you—“ He paused as Loki put a finger to his lips.

Loki leaned down until strands of ebony pooled onto Thor’s shoulder. He moved slowly as his hand came to Thor’s chin, tipping his head up so that their lips were close enough that Loki could feel the piping breath leave Thor’s nose. Then he lifted his head as though he had heard something and glanced at the door before vanishing with another invisibility spell. As he trotted to the corner of Thor’s bedroom (as silent as before), he watched for Thor’s reaction. The thunderer ran his own thumb over his lips as though savoring the touch. Loki smirked.

_Perfect._

 

 

“Get up.”

Something scalded his leg and Loki gasped in pain, scrambling away beneath the sheets. Tyr stood at the edge of the bed with a cross look about him, staring down as if Loki were nothing more than a piece of trash to be thrown out.

 Loki squeezed his eyes shut as the pain shot through his bloodstream and his skin began to blister. Something had made Tyr very angry. Loki glanced to his spellbooks, still open to the page that explained how to make communication with others in a different realm. He had been hoping that Tyr was not able to read runic script.

“I said, get up. Your darling prince awaits you, whore,” Tyr snapped, snatching for the blankets.

Loki would have used magic to transport himself into the bathroom to ready himself for what appeared to be a formal gathering, but he needed to save every last thread of energy to speak with his mother come nightfall. Then she would have an entire night and most of the next day to prepare before Tyr and his army were charging the palace. His snooping in the past few days in Thor’s chambers (unbeknownst to the prince) had given him the location of the battle and the size of the army.  Jotunheim would be able to fend them off easily.

“I leave tomorrow morning, and I do not intend to spend that time waiting for you,” Tyr growled, grabbing a fistful of his hair and wrenching him from bed by the scalp. Loki hissed loudly, but didn’t dare claw back. He would be with Thor soon—that was all that really mattered. He could hide away from the oafish prince without even trying. Thor was so enamored with him that a mere request for privacy would be granted for the whole night through.

Loki smirked as Tyr dragged him into a standing position. Thor was just too easy to manipulate—the last two days had been full of flirtatious banter and quiet (one-sided) conversation. And by the gods, it had worked. Thor was escorting him everywhere, beaming proudly at any passerby as if to say: _“he’s mine.”_ How wrong he was. Loki only needed a night to converse with his mother and it would no longer matter if Thor fancied him or not—half of the Aesir army would be dead and Thor would be sent to war next, unable to control his anger. And Loki would follow him to battle, pretending to be fighting alongside his newfound love—only to drive an ice blade straight through Thor’s heart when he tried to go after Loki’s father or his family. The only regret he would have would be for Frigga, for she was genuinely kind.

 So he did not complain as they walked through the corridors of the palace, even with the knowledge that he was wearing nothing but a fur loincloth. His scars and burns were evident on his pale-blue legs, but Loki no longer cared. He would be free of Tyr, and be happy to know that Helblindi would be driving a sword through the Aesir’s heart in a matter of days.

 

They arrived in a courtyard filled with blooming flowers and glorious fountains emanating strength and power in the form of lions and dragons alike. Creatures Loki had never seen and had only read about.

Thor stood on the far side, holding a thick metal chain. A massive wolf sat beside him and it was perhaps the most beautiful creature Loki had ever seen. It was larger than Thor, with grey fur streaked with browns and whites. Its tail was tipped with black, as though it had been used as a quill, matched only by the pitch black of the creature’s pupils that were surrounded with a fierce gold. The wolf was made purely of muscle, with long, thick fangs, perfectly pointed ears and the ideal plumpness of its coat. A fine beast, far better than anything in that lived in Jotunheim.

Thor grinned at him with fondness in his eyes that he tried so hard to conceal. Loki smiled slightly in response, but it quickly vanished as though he were afraid Tyr might see.  Gods, it was so easy to trick this man. Thor cleared his throat and straightened his posture, but Tyr made no move to show that he’d noticed, though it was painfully obvious that Thor was trying to conceal the true reason that he wanted Loki to be in his stead.

The wolf snarled as they approached, glaring at Tyr. Loki smirked. Fenrir. The wolf who had taken Tyr’s hand off. An event so gruesome that all of the Nine Realms had come to know about it. Loki supposed that it was a good trade—hopefully Fenrir would bite Tyr’s other hand off. It would make him much easier for Helblindi to kill.  Loki pursed his lips as Tyr shoved him forward with a now-gloved hand.

“Here’s your Frost Giant, Thor. Take him before I change my mind.”

“There will be none of that,” Thor said flatly. “You’ve signed the documents—Loki is under my charge now.”

Tyr grunted incoherently and Thor snarled at him, handing over the chains. Fenrir growled, but Loki could sense that there was magic keeping its mouth shut. Tyr noticed it soon after, once Loki was “safely” at Thor’s side.

“His mouth is shut. I cannot take him to battle without teeth to fight with,” said Tyr.

The Aesir prince shook his head. “I told you that you could have use of Fenrir for the purposes he was meant for. He was not meant to fight.”

The warrior crossed to Thor so quickly that Loki flinched despite himself. “I gave you your whore because you are my prince. I expect fairness in my dealings with someone of your stature.”

Thor snarled, meeting Tyr head on.

Loki glanced around, suddenly self-conscious. If they began to fight right at that moment there was little room to fit a Jotun prince and a giant wolf with any hope of no injuries. He needed to calm Thor down. Loki moved slowly and pressed a hand to Thor’s chest. The Aesir’s tunic was thin, but not thin enough to burn him, though it was hot. 

Thor immediately slacked, glancing down at Loki’s blue palm. “Fenrir will not be a wardog. He may guard your camp but that is my final verdict,” Thor said.

Tyr let out a low growl of disapproval. “So be it, my lord.”

Loki looked to the wolf and retracted his hand from where it rested on Thor’s chest. The wolf was going to die and that upset him—both he and Fenrir despised Tyr. He would try to save its life if he could, but Jotnar were not known for sympathy. Fenrir stared at him and there was a silent understanding between prisoners. _I’m sorry,_ Loki thought.

“Come, Loki,” Thor murmured. “I will show you your new chambers.”

He nodded once, casting a “fearful” look to Tyr before following Thor. In just a few hours, his mother would be informed of the attack and Jotunheim would finally defeat these brutes and take out a sizeable piece of their army.  Finally, after so long, Loki Laufeyson would no longer be a disgrace to his kingdom. No longer a runt. And perhaps, if he were lucky, Thor would die by his hand. 


	7. The Fool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please re-read Archive Warnings before reading this chapter, as they both apply here.

Thor led Loki quickly through the winding halls of the palace toward where Loki knew the royal wing was. Excitement began to pool in his veins as he walked, unable to stop himself from smiling. Everything was working so perfectly, all of his work was coming together just the way he’d predicted it would. Thor was clueless, Tyr was out of the picture, and Asgard would have no idea that Jotunheim knew about the attack until their army was dead and gone.

They went past Frigga’s study and a few doors that looked far more ornate than any he’d seen in the palace thus far. They passed Thor’s chambers and arrived at the smaller, less fancy door beside it. Loki cocked a brow, dimly wondering how many duchesses and royal women had called this room home for their stays in Asgard. Thor turned to him with a wide smile, but Loki didn’t have the time to return it.

“This room is the quietest. Very few Aesir ever disturb these halls, so you will find it good for your readings and studies,” said Thor. Loki tensed when he saw the thunderer’s hand come up to gently grasp a strand of his hair, running his thick, clumsy fingers though all of it like he was some horse. Thor cleared his throat and pulled away to open the door.

“I have things to attend to this evening, but the servants have already collected your things and brought them here for you. I understand that you will need time to settle in, but feel free to…fetch me if you require anything more.” Thor smiled weakly and Loki barely contained a snort of laughter. What a damned fool. It was a wonder that no other women had thought to do something to Thor Odinson—it was obvious that the prince thought himself the most attractive being in the Nine Realms.

Loki nodded once and slipped past the Aesir rather hurriedly—he was eager to relay his plans to his mother. It would take a considerable amount of time and all of his energy, but his people needed to know what was coming.

“Good night, Loki.”

Loki turned, smiling brightly back at Thor. Not because he had any fondness toward the man, but because now he was free to begin his work. Thor closed the door and Loki waited until the sound of his footsteps were no longer audible before lunging for his things.

 

 

 

An hour or so later, everything was laid out. A bowl of water infused with a few drops of his blood, dried flower petals sprinkled, and an elixir made of various spices and juices. Loki took the bottle of the elixir in hand, closing his eyes as he began to draw up his magic. The pool of lavender water began to shift as he focused, pinpointing where his mother was.  His mind traversed the halls of the Jotnar palace, searching the places where she usually stood. Well, where he thought she usually stood—he didn’t know.

“ _Loki.”_

His eyes snapped open and there she was, staring back at him from the pool of water. Her gaze was sharp, but she was wearing a smile. Then he remembered that smiles were hostile coming from Jotnar, they simply didn’t exist.

“Mother, I must speak quickly, the—“

She cut him off with a hiss. “We will not be asking for your return for another moon. How dare you beg us for—“

Loki shook his head, his mental strength already fading. “No, Mother. The Aesir are coming. They attack tomorrow. Tyr will bring and army of two thousand, to the south entrance. They plan to sneak from the forest and ambush the camps.”

Farbauti blinked, running her tongue along her teeth. “You are sure of this, Loki?”

“Yes. They depart from the bridge at dawn, so they will arrive shortly before noon. “

A low purr escaped his mother’s throat. “Excellent, my son. I have even heard rumors that the prince of Asgard has eyes for you.”

Loki dipped his head, grinning. “Yes, Mother. He pines after me like a fool.”

She clucked in approval. “Very good. As a reward, I will grant you speech once more.”

Loki could hardly contain himself, he was simply so thrilled. He would return to Jotunheim a hero. None would ever question his loyalty again and he would no longer have to spend all of his time in his chambers. But the magic was draining him faster than he wanted it to, so there was no time to dwell on his excitement.

“I have the exact markings of the attack, here.” He reached for the map he had prepared and dumped the elixir onto the parchment. With a simple spell, the magic began to transfer the markings on the page to his mother.

“This will provide us a victory, Loki. I am so proud of you,” Farbauti purred.

Loki shifted, smiling. He waned to be home again, where it was wonderfully cold and he had his mother there to tell him that she was proud of him and his father too look at him with pride.

“Mother, I hate it here. I want to be home, I want to—“

“Silence,” Farbauti hissed, looking over the maps and markings. “You will stay in Asgard. You must take control of Thor Odinson—you must convince him that the two of you are in love.”

Loki’s mouth fell open slightly, tears pricking his eyes. “L-love? No. I do not want to pretend anything, I want to go home.”

“Once you have convinced him, then you will bring him here. Then we will slaughter him for Odin to see.”

“I don’t—“

“You will be a legend, my son. None in Jotunheim will want your brothers as king—not if you kill Thor Odinson! You could then take your father’s place.”

He bit down his response and tried not to cry like a fool. He didn’t want to be with Thor, he didn’t want to have to pretend to love him—he didn’t even know how to do that! But if it was the only way to gain favor…

“I cannot even touch him. There is no way to convince him without touch,” he murmured after a moment, his mind beginning to fog from fatigue.

“I will see to that,” his mother replied. “After the battle tomorrow, should your information be accurate.”

Loki nodded once, unwilling to even open his eyes. He didn’t want to do this. The very thought of how much Thor stayed close to him was already making him sick, actually returning kisses or anything of that sort…He shuddered.

“Now, Loki, do not look so—“

The door to his chambers swung open with a loud crash. Loki’s eyes flew open and he dove forward, spilling the bowl of water and severing the connection. It wouldn’t matter—whoever had come across him would know what a communication spell looked like. Aesir warriors were taught to be able to recognize spy activity. Dread swept over the young Jotun as he turned, breathing hard with lavender-color water all over his lap.

Tyr stood in the doorway, hunched over and breathing raggedly. Loki’s nose wrinkled at the scent of drink on his lips. _No._

In the same instant that Loki realized what was happening, Tyr lunged. Loki ran for the bathroom, but Tyr was quick enough to block it, laughing drunkenly as he did so.

“Thor ‘spects me to take his sorry mutt? Ha!” Tyr swung an arm, knocking a gold vase from a nearby table. It crashed to the floor, spilling water on polished stone. Loki watched with wide eyes as the warrior took a few steps closer to him, then dashed for the door to the hall. It was open just enough that he could squeeze through if he tried—maybe shoving it open and into Tyr’s face would hold him off long enough to escape.

But the water made the floor slick beneath his feet and he fell to the ground. Blue limbs scrambled for purchase, but it was too late. A burning hand grasped his shoulder, bringing tears to Loki’s eyes almost immediately as his skin began to blister beneath the touch,

“I will not take a broken mutt for a perfectly good whore,” Tyr growled, yanking him up and throwing him toward the bed. Loki’s hips smacked the end of bedframe, sending pain shooting up his spine.  He jumped up in an attempt to go for the door again, but Tyr caught his ankle and yanked him back until his belly hit the mattress.

“But I _will_ trade a broken mutt for a broken whore.”

Loki clawed at the blankets, desperately trying to escape. There was a thin sliver of light coming form the door, his only chance at escape. He kicked backward, slamming Tyr’s chest with his heel and driving back even though his shoulder and ankle were still smoldering from Tyr’s grip. A weight settled on the end of the mattress just before Loki’s furs were ripped from his waist with a powerful yank.

Tears leaked down his cheeks and he continued to claw for the door as Tyr chuckled from above him.

“Don’t worry, Loki,” Tyr sneered. “You are far too valuable to mount like a horse.” The scent of alcohol was choking him as Tyr tossed Loki over and onto his back. “I’d rather see your face and take you like real royalty.”

Loki wanted to scream, but no words would come out. It wasn’t because of his mother’s spell any longer—he was simply too terrified. There was no escape. There was nothing he could do, nowhere to run.  Tyr loomed over him, pinning him down with his legs as he haphazardly tore off his tunic and trousers. Loki clawed at him, but then Tyr grabbed his hands and shoved them into his mouth, giving a few firm sucks as they swelled and burned on his tongue.

“Thor!” Loki screamed, yanking his arms to try and tear his hand from Tyr’s mouth. His entire body was burning and blistering and festering. Thor had promised to come if something was wrong. “Thor!”

Suddenly scalding lips were on Loki’s, branding him with a heat so fierce Loki thought his entire face had been doused in boiling water. Tyr continued kissing him as he cried out, screaming for anyone who could possibly hear him, but knowing that no one would come. It didn’t take long before his mouth was too swollen to move anyway.

Tyr finally pulled away from him, then grunted under his breath and tossed Loki onto his belly, apparently abandoning his previous plan. Loki tried screaming again, but Tyr just started to laugh.

“I always knew you were a liar. Spells keeping you from talking? Right.” Tyr’s lips pressed between his shoulderblades and Loki sobbed openly onto the mattress, praying to the gods that someone would save him. He knew no one would. “And quit making so much noise. You might ruin Thor’s sleep.”

Loki squeezed his eyes shut, his entire body telling him that he was burning alive. But the real pain hadn’t yet started, that he knew. And Thor was sleeping. The man he would have to pretend to love was sleeping while he was being brutally defiled. He squirmed feebly as Tyr readjusted himself, then decided against it and fell limp. It was hopeless.

So he clawed into the sheets and focused on the shaft of moonlight peeking into the room from the doorway. Safety was so close, just a few steps would have given him freedom. He was just too weak, too stupid to better defend himself. He should have put up wards for just such occasions, but he’d forgotten in his haste to warn his mother. It only seemed fit that he would pay the consequences for his foolishness. Even if he did not survive the night, even if Tyr’s drunken lust ended with him dead, Loki knew he deserved it. He also knew that if he lived and had to endure endless nights like this under Thor Odinson, that he would deserve that too.

_No matter what happens_ , he thought as his mouth filled with blood from biting his swollen cheek as it was rubbed against the mattress, _you deserve this for being such a fool._


	8. The Great War

Thor woke to the sound of running footsteps in the halls outside his bedchamber. It took quite a bit of noise to wake the thunderer from a rest, especially after a night of drinking and pre-battle celebration. He lifted his head from the warmth of his pillow, blinking in the morning sun. Something was happening outside that had caused his guards to rush away from their posts. A low groan escaped his lips. Loki.

Trading Fenrir for the Jotun prince was no contest, for Thor had a growing attachment to the younger man. Perhaps it was as Sif said, because he had never experienced such blatant rejection before. Loki seemed immune to his charms; his every subtle way of trying to court the younger prince was either ignored or unnoticed. But whenever Loki did return it, as had happened just a few nights prior, Thor’s heart had nearly leapt from his chest. No one had ever made him feel that way, which frightened him a little. But he passed it off as excitement and had gone through with his deal to take Loki as his prisoner, though Thor hated that word. Well, he hated it when it came to Loki.

His mother did nothing to help either; she was constantly asking him about Loki’s wellbeing and if he had started speaking yet. Almost as if Loki were his child, which Thor found highly amusing. He sometimes wondered if Loki could in fact speak, though Frigga told him that the muting spell was very much in place. Loki never tried to talk to him—their only communication had been through their hands. That was probably the most aggravating part of the whole affair, for touching Loki would hurt him. Thor was a physical Aesir, he touched to show intimacy, both in friendship and romance. For instance, Fandral knew it was him when Thor so much as clapped a hand to the warrior’s shoulder from behind.  Touch was necessary for battle, so Thor had somewhat perfected it.

With a loud yawn, he pulled himself from the tangle of sheets and ran a hand through his golden locks. There were plenty of tangles in his hair and his lips were still a bit red from smudges of lipstick. He grumbled as he rubbed at the marks, staring at his reflection in the curve of a golden vase beside his bed. Once his face seemed clear enough, he fumbled for his trousers and slipped them on. For once he might actually attend breakfast. He shook out his hair another time and began slipping on his tunic when his door was thrown open. Thor peered out from beneath the bottom of his shirt, his arms up above him.

A guard stood there with a face of stone. “M’lord. I am sorry to disturb you but…” The guard swallowed.

Thor finished pulling on his tunic and shot the guard a look. “Go on, speak.”

“Your presence is required in the throne hall, immediately. There has been an ambush in Jotunheim.”

Thor blinked. That was impossible. The Frost Giants had been consistently lacking on the south end, there was no possible way that they could have foreseen the attack, especially if Tyr had used the forest routes. He nodded once to the guard and called Mjolnir to his hand before setting off to the throne hall.

 

When he arrived, the hall was in chaos. Guards were casting worried looks to Odin and whispering things among themselves, but most of the noise came from women fretting about their husbands. Some were wailing, others were cradling children, tears soaking their cheeks. Even Sif looked downcast as she comforted a young boy clutching a wooden sword. It was the picture of a battle lost, something Thor was not convinced of. He smiled as he greeted fellow warriors and friends, then made his way up the steps to the throne where Odin sat deep in thought.

“Father, tell me what has happened,” Thor demanded.

Odin blinked, looking up at him somberly. “They have killed all but five hundred of our men. The rest they plan to either eat, torture, or execute.”

“Then we will trade Loki for our men,” Thor said after a moment, glancing at his feet.

Odin shook his head. “They do not want Loki. They want Aesir land.”

“No,” Thor growled. “There will be no part of Jotunheim here.”

“You would have five hundred men die for a few acres of our land?”

“Not one of those men would ever wish to see a Jotun plot on our soil,” Thor said, his nostrils flaring. “It would be an insult to spare their lives for such a cause.”

His father sat back, staring out into the chaos in front of him. “And what of their wives and children? We now have over a thousand new widows and countless children without fathers.”

“In the Great War there were many more than that.”

“This is not the Great War!” Odin boomed, slamming Gungnir to the ground.

Thor sighed in frustration as the wails of young children reached a new height. His father still refused to see that this was not a border skirmish; this was most definitely a war. Jotunheim had slaughtered over half of their men in one fell swoop.

“How did Jotunheim know of the attack?”

“I suspect Loki told them,” said Odin.

Thor shook his head. “He was with me all day.”

“And all night?”

Thor opened his mouth to respond then closed it again. Damn. He didn’t believe that Loki had done this, especially with his spell still in place. Loki didn’t even know enough about the attack to tell anyone. Thor shook his head. “Loki had no access to any maps or plans.”

“You underestimate him,” Odin mumbled.

Thor sighed, looking to the floor. “What will we do? Jotunheim will be expecting an attack and if we imprison Loki and it turns out that he is not the spy, then we will lose tenfold of what we lost today.”

His father nodded. “We will need to plan a rescue. Organize a group of fifty of the men you trust most, as well as the Warriors Three. Once we have the plan of attack, you must force Loki to help us. You have eyes for him, I have seen it. Ensure that you trust each other, then he will lead us to where the prisoners are kept. Laufey will not expect his son to betray him.”

Thor bit his lip. His attraction to Loki was real, not just a bout of lust. The last thing he wanted to do was have Loki come to trust him only to ask if he were willing to betray his father and his home. It had been hard enough for Loki to get to a point where being alone together didn’t result in Loki snarling at him. But it was the only way to save his friends.

“Odin.”

The crowds went silent as a low baritone rumbled over the crowd. Thor turned to see Heimdal standing at the far end of the throne hall.

“Laufey has sent a gift.”

Thor’s eyes narrowed as he recognized a large shape behind the gatekeeper. Heimdal snapped a chain lead and Fenrir limped forward, his fur bloodied and spiked with red. His mouth had been bound, and in it he held the head of Hakon, one of the youngest and most accomplished warriors in the realm. Not to mention one of Odin’s council. Fenrir bobbed his head, trying to spit out the head while a few screams from Hakon’s mother and sister punctuated the deathly air. Odin closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“Cut the ropes,” Thor commanded and a few guards hesitantly approached the massive wolf, using their spears to sever the bindings. Fenrir spit out the head and the crowd watched as it rolled across the floor, Hakon’s face still etched in a scream.

Heimdal released the chain and Fenrir skittered on the polished marble, tail between his legs until he was at Thor’s side, shaking and whining. Thor lifted a hand to stroke the wolf’s head, murmuring soft comforts. Odin sat up once more and asked for the guards to remove the head and prepare a royal burial.

“Where is Mother?” Thor asked quietly after Hakon’s head had been carried out of the throne room.

“She is consoling other widows. Return to your prisoner Thor. We do not have much time before more are killed.”

Thor nodded once before picking up Fenrir’s chain and leading the massive wolf out of the hall. Jotunheim would pay for what they had done.

 

 

 

After giving Fenrir to the stableboys to clean up, Thor walked back to his chambers with a heavy heart. Over a thousand men were dead and he had been sleeping through it. They had sang and drank most of the night through and now most of those men were dead, the rest imprisoned. Many would likely freeze even without the Jotunar tortures. With a sigh, he knocked then promptly pressed open the door to Loki’s chambers.

The Jotun prince was curled up in bed, the blankets wrapped all the way to his neck. For a Jotun who hated heat, Thor found that odd. Loki faced away from him and did not stir, evidently still asleep. Thor approached anyway—Loki was a prisoner after all.

When he sat down on the bed, Loki jerked but did not look over.

“Loki, it is after noon,” Thor murmured, reaching over to gently shake Loki’s shoulder through the blanket. When he placed his hand down though, he felt Loki trembling. “Loki?” He gave a gentle squeeze and heard a high-pitched whimper. His brow furrowed and he peeled back the blanket.

He was met with a sea of purple blood. Some of it was black from having dried, but it was everywhere. Thor’s lips parted in horror as he tore the blanket the rest of the way off to see that the sheet underneath was stuck to Loki’s body, completely soaked in purple.

“Loki, what happened?” he demanded, but the prince didn’t answer. Thor peeled back the underlying sheet and nearly threw up at the sight of Loki’s backside. Misshapen lumps of blue made up his back, all of them giant blisters and burns. Blood oozed from a few of them and Thor leapt back when he noticed that Loki was not clothed. Not from surprise at Loki’s nakedness, but from sheer disgust. The bleeding was worst from Loki’s rear. The mere sight of how grossly swollen, burned and torn the flesh was made Thor lurch a few times, forced to turn away.

Someone had raped Loki. An Aesir.

Thor leapt from the bed and rounded the other side to Loki’s face and immediately wished he hadn’t. Loki’s eyes were barely visible from the swelling of his cheeks and his lips were so swollen that it couldn’t have been easy for him to breath. Thor’s nostrils flared in disgust as he noticed bloody bite marks on Loki’s puffy neck and tears pricked in his eyes form the sheer horrors that must have been committed. All the while, he had been drinking and enjoying himself.

“Oh, Loki…” he whispered, smoothing back a few strands of black. He immediately pulled his hand back, forgetting about the burns, but to his surprise nothing happened. He dared to touch again and he could only feel cool skin, there was no evidence of any burning from his touch.

Loki’s eyes were open, though it was hard to tell from the little crimson slits that were visible, but Thor noticed that Loki’s pupils were trained on him.

“I will make you better,” Thor whispered, bringing a hand to gently caress the Jotun’s cheek. Whoever had done such a despicable thing would be facing every kind of torture Thor could imagine for them. Loki hadn’t a chance against an Aesir that could burn with nothing but a touch. “I will find who did this and they will suffer for their crimes.”

Loki let out a tiny, shaking breath through his swollen lips then closed his eyes. The pain had to be excruciating.

“I will be back and you will be safe,” Thor murmured, leaning forward and pressing the softest of kisses to Loki’s temple. Then he threw open the bedding chest nearby to grab a fresh sheet and carefully placed it over Loki’s body to provide some decency. Gods…who could have been so brutally heartless?

He tore out of the room and called for the guard, ordering that none could enter the room but he and his mother. The guards looked confused, but nodded curtly.

 

 

Frigga was speaking to a woman in one of the palace sitting rooms when Thor found her, his breath short and ragged.

“Thor? What is wrong?” Frigga asked, her brow creasing in concern.

“Mother,” Thor panted. “I need your help. Loki.”

Frigga didn’t seem to understand, but she said her goodbyes to the woman anyway and approached him, reaching out an hand to rest on his arm, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “Has something happened?”

“It’s Loki…” Tears welled in his eyes. Loki was innocent—even if he _wasn’t_ innocent, it didn’t excuse that kind of horror, that kind of sick cruelty. “Last night, I was not there and…Mother, he was…Someone defiled him.”

His mother’s eyes widened and a horrified gasp left her lips that she quickly covered with a hand.  “Oh, Thor.” She wrapped her arms around him and he embraced her tightly just to try and stop the shaking. He never wanted to hurt Loki, he certainly never wanted something like this to happen. How many hours had Loki lay there in pain?

“He is in the chambers attached to mine, we must move quickly.”

Frigga nodded once. “I must first gather things in my chambers. What are his wounds?”

Thor blinked slowly, parting his lips silently for a few moments. “His body is covered in burns. There are blisters, torn skin, bites…Mother, he is dying. There is not once place that has not been touched.”

Frigga shut her eyes, swallowing thickly before nodding. “All right. I will bring all I can. While I am gathering my things, go to the healing ward and fetch the head healers. There are a few who have worked with Jotnar slaves, bring one of them.”

Thor nodded curtly, his eyes still glazed with tears as he started for the healing ward. Loki could not die. Not this way. Not like this.


	9. A Warm Touch Has A Swift Burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who will be staying up this evening to see the Thor 2 trailer. I may or may not join you. Anyhow, here is Chapter 9. AS usual, I feel as though things are moving too fast, let me know what you think. x.x
> 
> And thank you to everyone for all of your comments and kudos! I really never expected this story to get any attention at all, but thank you nonetheless!

For a long time there was only darkness. Loki’s body had lost all feeling, and all of his senses were muffled. His tongue was thick in his mouth from where Tyr had forced his way past his lips; his ears were swollen and purple from where Tyr’s teeth had closed around them.  Sounds reached him occasionally, but he couldn’t even see anything thanks to the fact that his eyes were too swollen to see out of. If he’d had the strength, he would have trembled. Aesir were touching him, running their hands all over his body as though he were some sort of toy. Oddly enough, he couldn’t even feel the pain from their touches.

A deep rumble broke through his thoughts on occasion, a voice that he could only guess was Thor’s, the man who had ignored his screams for help in favor of letting Tyr have his way with him.  Probably to ease the tension between the two of them for when they stormed Jotunheim together.  Just as his mother had said: Loki was just a pawn. An object to be traded, a whore. A prize.

Gradually, he began to feel again. It came in sharp lashes, for his body could only recognize pain. His breathing quickened and he began to whimper, though he wasn’t aware of it. A hand came to his forehead, resting there as though he were a sick child. Thor’s voice sounded again, slightly clearer than it had been before. Loki tried to snarl, but his lips screamed at the very thought of moving.

The next thing he knew, he was in Jotunheim. He was lying amongst the snow, the white fluff embracing him as though to welcome him home. It was wonderfully cold, so cold that he could almost feel his body healing itself. The extent of his injuries would take a few days to completely heal, and he had a feeling that he might never be able to produce offspring—not that any Jotun woman would ever want him to be the father of their children. He was a runt, a hapless prince whose only purpose was to serve Jotunheim in whatever way he could. That did not include bearing children.

So perhaps this was a blessing. Perhaps this was the gods’ way of punishing him for ever daring to want children. They would have lived a horrible life anyway, if Helblindi or Byleistr ever felt their succession was threatened they would kill his children without hesitation. Well, now they wouldn’t have to worry about that. He had done exactly what his mother told him not to do—he had acted submissive when Thor had traded Fenrir for him. And sure enough, he’d been mounted as a prize. Just as Farbauti had warned.

After what felt like a few centuries, Loki realized he was not in Jotunheim at all. A cooling spell had been placed on his bedsheets that made them feel like snow. A crimson eye opened, expecting to find a group of Aesir waiting their turn to rut him into the mattress. Instead, there was only the warm glow of a torch on the far wall.   Loki sat up a little, wincing at the pain. But he had to see what had been done to him. He was still naked and looking down his chest was the same as reliving the entire experience. His skin was still slightly swollen and shiny from being pulled taut and littered with bruises and burns.

Pain radiated between his legs worst of all, as a further reminder that he had been claimed by an Aesir. His thighs looked the worst, probably from when he had been screaming and trying to close his legs after Tyr had spilled inside of him the first time. At least the sheets were clean now.

And he would have to endure countless nights of this with Thor. Thor Odinson was known for his prowess in the bedchamber, for bedding women two and three at a time and pleasuring all of them until fully sated.  Loki was but one runt. Even Tyr had seeded him thee times. Once on his belly, once on his back and once in his mouth. Loki hadn’t even tried to speak yet, for he knew that his throat was probably charred beyond recognition. If only he could have bitten him, but his lips were too swollen by that point.

Suddenly he wanted to throw up as he thought about the fact that Tyr’s seed was probably still in his stomach. He rolled over (painfully) and retched over the side of the bed. But it still felt like something was inside of him, so he rammed a fist into his belly and vomited again.  Then he felt hands on his thighs, spreading his legs impossibly far.  Tyr. Tyr had come back to remind him who he belonged to.

“I am yours!” Loki cried, tears welling in his eyes.  He couldn’t endure that kind of torture again. But Tyr’s hands moved to his organ, scalding his most sensitive skin all over again.

“I’ll do whatever you wish, please!” he screamed, struggling to escape. “I am yours!”

Then the door burst open, but Tyr didn’t stop. Loki wailed as the impossibly burning heat of Tyr’s member breached him. It was as if a branding iron was being pushed inside of him. “Stop, I beg of you! Please!”

Then Tyr’s hands flipped him over, but they were no longer burning. Yet he could still feel the skin blistering at his entrance, the hands spreading his thighs.

“Let me go,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. He then recalled what Tyr had asked him to say the night before, when his lips were too puffy to move. “I’m your filthy wench,” he said though shaking lips. “You’ve f-fucked me to—“ He remembered Tyr’s hand wrenching at his length and let out a little sob. “—completion.”

But instead of being tossed back to the bed and claimed again, Tyr’s hands came to his face. Loki squirmed, then dared to open his eyes to find Thor, wide-eyed above him with tears threatening to fall. Loki looked down, but Thor was fully clothed. The burning between his legs was gone and he could only feel the warm touch of the Aesir prince at his cheeks.

“Loki,” Thor whispered, scanning his face.

Loki was still shaking, staring up at him. Perhaps Thor had come to assert that he was his and not Tyr’s.

“You are no one’s,” the Aesir said. “You are Loki. No one will ever harm you again, I promise.”

Loki swallowed thickly, wanting to badly to claw Thor’s face beyond recognition. How dare he say that? How dare he try to say that he couldn’t take care of himself! But time was short and his mother told him that he needed to make Thor fall in love with him. Well, that was turning out to be disgustingly easy.

“I called out for you,” he whispered, reaching up to gently caress Thor’s jaw. “But you did not come.”

That seemed to hurt him. Thor flinched, then—unexpectedly—buried his face into the crook of Loki’s neck. “I know. I failed you and-and this atrocity happened.” Thor shook his head. “I cannot forgive myself.”

“You shouldn’t,” Loki murmured, wrapping his arms around Thor’s neck. “Your actions would not have saved me anyhow.” He looked away. “I was always meant to be a whore.”

“No,” Thor said defiantly, lifting his head. “You are a prince of Jotunheim.”

“And you are a fool, Odinson,” Loki said quietly, turning his head. A shiver ran down his spine as Thor’s breath played across his neck—not a good one. It reminded him of Tyr, how he had done the same thing while inside of him. He closed his eyes and swallowed.

“Who did this to you?” Thor asked after a few moments, resting his head on Loki’s chest. As though they were lovers.

Loki gently nestled his fingers in the stringy bleached locks and then yanked Thor’ head backward. The Aesir yelped, bringing a hand to clap over his own. Panic filled Loki’s bloodstream at the touch. Now Thor was angry, just as Tyr had been. He glanced down and realized that Thor was practically lying on top of him, yet he was still unclothed. All the easier for him to be claimed.

Loki brought his legs up, kneeing Thor in the chin as he did so. He didn’t care, he needed to get away. His muscles screamed at him for moving, but he would rather feel that pain than the pain of Thor inside of him. He wrestled his way out from under the Aesir and flopped to the stone floor, releasing a little cry of pain when he landed. He dove for the dresser and yanked out a tunic and trousers, using magic to clothe himself as he rocketed for the door, hobbling like a lame horse because of the pain from where Tyr had first grabbed his ankle.

As soon as he was in the hallway, he bolted past the guards as fast as he could run. He was faster than Thor, even with a bad leg. Though he knew his mother would be furious, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to be touched anymore, not by anyone. He wanted to be back in the bedchamber he’d been confined to in Jotunheim and crawl underneath the bed like he used to do after he was forced to bed Jotun women. He wanted darkness and walls all around him, squeezing him so that no one else could fit.

Using magic made him more tired than usual because speaking to his mother last night had sucked him dry. The tiny spell of clothing himself had taxed him more than he expected. He dashed through the halls, darting between groups of royals that gasped at the sight of his blue skin. Turning down a dark corridor, he smiled at the sight of a window at the far end. He didn’t care how high it was, he just needed to escape this prison.

But before he got there, he was tackled from the side. Loki cried out in both surprise and pain as he tumbled to the stone floor, along with the body that had tackled him.

“Sorry, Loki, but I don’t think Thor would be very happy with me if I let you escape.” To his surprise, it was a woman’s voice. He looked up to see Lady Sif now standing above him, offering a hand. Loki had only met her in passing, though he knew about her skills on the battlefield. Even in Jotunheim they had talked about the woman who slayed men. He snarled at her offer to help and got to his feet.

Sif furrowed her brow as she looked him over. “By the gods, did something happen to you?”

But before he could snap at her, Thor rounded the corner, letting out a heavy breath of relief at the sight of the two of them. Loki’s eyes widened, knowing that Thor was probably going to embrace him and drag him right back to the bedchamber and finish his job. Sif’s hand was in his arm in a flash, holding him still.

“Thor,” she asked. “What has happened to Loki?”

Thor was still breathing hard, but found enough air to answer. “Someone has defiled him. Last night, the swine broke into…”

Loki stopped listening and instead began to tremble. Soon the whole palace would know.  He would walk the halls and they would whisper about how he must have been in bed, or maybe they would find out the truth—that he had welcomed it. Thor himself hadn’t even bothered to make up a story to protect his dignity, so why would Sif? Why would anyone? All of Asgard would know him as the man too weak to fight back. The example to show that all Jotnar were too pathetic to fight off an attacker. But that wasn’t true—it was just him. Loki Laufeyson, the whore of the Nine Realms. And then Thor would bed him just to see what it was like, then perhaps he would be sold out to other curious Aesir. The gold would be stripped from his hair and he would be brought into bedchambers bound in chains. All because he had tried to escape. All because of his stupidity.

“Loki?” Thor said and he jerked back to the present. Sif was gone and they were alone again. “Loki…”

“Do not touch me!” he shouted, smacking Thor’s hand away. “Never touch me again!”

Thor’s brow creased and his hand dropped back to his side. “What is the matter?”

Loki let out a shrill laugh. “What is the matter? As if you did not just tell Lady Sif what shameful acts have been forced upon me. As if all of Asgard will not know that I was too weak to fight off one of you.”

The Aesir’s mouth fell open and Loki saw the recognition in his eyes. “I simply wanted to warn her so that we may find who did this…I never meant to hurt you. I…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry is not good enough, Odinson,” Loki hissed, but there were damned tears in his eyes. “Not when you plan to drag me back there and do the same.”

Shock registered in Thor’s features. “I—what? Loki, I mean to protect you, to comfort you—“

“By running your hands all over my still-naked body?” he snapped. “By putting your face to my chest as he did?”

Thor’s face changed to one that was determined—different than his usual expression. Loki stepped back, but he was against the wall and could move no further.

“I can see that you are frightened, but please trust me when I say I will not harm you or take advantage of you.  I simply thought you remembered,” Thor said quietly.

“Remembered what?” Loki could think of nothing that would excuse Thor’s current behavior.

“Last night you were screaming. I tried to comfort you but you attacked me.” The Asgardian lifted an arm covered in scratches, some shallow, most deep. “So I sat on the end of the bed and told you the story of Yggdrasil. When you still would not quiet, I lay next to you.”

Loki had no memory of any of this—he hadn’t even noticed that a day had passed. If it weren’t for the scratched, he wouldn’t have believed it at all. “Lying next to me does not excuse what you have done,” he snarled.

Thor frowned, lifting a hand to run his thumb over his still-swollen lips. “You did not stop screaming even then. It was not until I embraced you that you stilled.” Thor pulled down his tunic to show a few healed puncture wounds that Loki recognized were from his teeth.

“I bit you. That hardly seems to indicate that I wanted to be in your arms,” he said, but a strange feeling was creeping past the terror in his nervous system.

“I know. You did not try to escape though, or else I would have released you. There were nightmares, but each time I pulled away you began to scream again. Then you fell asleep.” Thor looked to the ground. “I did not mean to frighten you, I see now that my actions must have seemed brutish if you had not remembered that.”

“I will never want to be in your arms again,” Loki hissed, even though his mind was scolding him for driving Thor away. But he didn’t sound as defiant as he wanted to be. “You are a reckless, dimwitted fool. Everything you do is blundering—I do not even think you are capable of eating a meal without shattering dinnerware.”

But Thor was moving closer and Loki found himself not pulling away, though he wanted to. The Aesir looked down at his lips for a moment, as if asking permission. Loki told himself to turn away, but instead found himself tipping his chin up. It was because he was desperate, obviously.

Thor gently nose his cheekbone, but Loki was too focused on his breathing and the fact that his damned heartbeat was escalating. His body was still in pain, between his legs was still burning, but it was as if his body could remember what Thor had told him.

The Aesir’s bottom lip grazed his top lip in a display of gentleness that Loki didn’t think Thor was capable of. Loki realized that his lips were already parted and he could taste Thor’s breath and feel it mixing with his own.

“I hate you,” he whispered. “I despise every part of your existence.”

Thor’s lips twitched in the beginnings of a smile. “You may hate me as much as you wish, but I can see you feel otherwise.”

Before Loki could make a witty reply, Thor’s lips pressed against his own. They were soft, warm, and radiating the same charisma that always attracted everyone’s attention. He went still, allowing Thor to kiss him a second time, though their lips had barely parted, then a third. Loki could not deny that he tasted of summer—the brief weeks were the far reaches of Jotunheim had no snow. Thor was warmth and safety—Loki believed him that he had slept in the Aesir’s embrace. His body was familiar with this man’s, whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not.

Then Thor’s lips parted a little more and his tongue slipped past Loki’s lips. A tremor ran up his spine and his eyes went wide. Thor was trying to burn his tongue so he couldn’t speak. Thor sensed the tension and immediately pulled back.

“I said don’t touch me,” Loki whispered, though his voice grew louder with every word. “Let me go! Thor!” he screamed, just as he had two nights prior. Tyr was flipping him over on the mattress…”Thor!”

Strong arms wrapped around him and squeezed him tight to Thor’s chest. Loki squirmed against him for a moment before inhaling the musky scent, one that seemed to immediately smooth his frayed nerves.  Tyr was gone. Tyr was gone. He wished that he wanted Thor to let him go, but he didn’t. Thor could protect him. Thor was the only one that could protect him. Gods, he was such a child.

“You are strong,” Thor murmured into his hair, unknowingly combatting Loki’s inner demons. “Never think otherwise. You are much stronger than I, Loki Laufeyson. You will overcome this and I will protect you, I promise.”

And though Loki wouldn’t admit it—not even to himself—he believed him.


	10. The Fox Not Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update! Sorry this has taken so unbearably long, I just couldn't find the muse. So sorry!

 

The next morning, Thor woke alone in Loki’s bed. Momentary panic caused him to sit up much too quickly, worried that someone had decided to steal Loki away. It didn’t really make much sense why that would happen, but Thor was not always the brightest thinker when freshly awoken. 

He scanned the room, clearing his throat to call out for Loki when he noticed that there was light coming from the bathroom. The door was cracked open, evidently so that Thor would at least know where the Jotun prince had gone. He slid from the bed, running a hand through his hair and yawning, very disappointed that he’d woken so quickly. Dawn had only just broken, though he supposed that he would have been woken soon anyway. There was Jotunheim to deal with, after all.

He stepped into the bathroom and heard the faint sloshing of bathwater. Yes, Loki was inside. 

“Good morning,” Thor greeted quietly as not to frighten him.

Loki was sitting in the bath, tracing a finger in circles on the surface of the water. He looked up as Thor entered, but gave no greeting in reply.

Oh.

Thor cleared his throat, crossing his arms because he didn’t know what else to do with them. Loki’s skin looked much clearer than it had the day before. In fact, almost all of the swelling was gone from his face and body.

“You look better,” Thor said, awkwardly shifting his weight.

Loki looked up at him again. “I should hope so.”

His voice sounded better too, much less scratchy.

A light radiated from the tip of Loki’s finger, spreading out in cobweb veins through the water before turning a cool blue and dissolving away.

“What are you doing?” Thor asked, crouching to get a better look at the spell. Frigga seldom used any spells that had to do with water unless she was watering her plants.

“What does it look like I am doing?” Loki spat. “It is called spellwork. Perhaps you have heard of it?”

Thor blinked, not expecting so much venom. Yesterday Loki had cried, screamed, and he’d been angry, but not quite this angry. Not so hateful. Toward him anyway.

“Did…did I do something wrong?”

Another web of white pulsed into the water before Loki answered. “Where should I start? You keep me imprisoned in your disgusting realm, you lie to me, and you think I am stupid enough to believe that your affections are true.”

Well, Thor couldn’t do much about the imprisonment side of things. Loki was indeed a prisoner, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t important to him.

“You are a prisoner of Asgard, but…you do hold my affections.”

“As have many,” Loki said quietly, sending out another pulse into the water.

“Yes, but none of them have ever held my affections as long as you have,” Thor said. It was true—he couldn’t remember anyone that he had been so eager to see each day.

Loki looked up at him, searching his face for falsity, no doubt. “Do you love me, then? That is what you seem to be implying.”

He asked the question so simply, as though loving someone was as easy as saying hello to them. Thor swallowed hard. “Well…I…” What could he say to that? “Perhaps I could. But I do not yet know you, Loki. This is the first time we have spoken to each other without malice.” There, that was a good way to avoid saying no. And all of it was truthful.

“Oh?” Loki submerged his hand in the water, lying back to soak himself. “I am still speaking to you with malice, Odinson. Do not mistake my quiet tone for a lack of it.”

Thor swallowed. “Alright. Well, it does not change the fact that I do not know much about you, Loki.”

“And what would you like to know?”

He blinked. What did he want to know? He wanted to know about Jotunheim and how best to save their men, but Loki wasn’t asking about that. So he’d go with the obvious question. “Do you have affections for me?”

Loki looked at him as if to see if he was being serious. The silence spread between them, but Thor kept Loki’s gaze with a rare show of patience. It was a difficult question, he knew.

“I suppose, yes. But not in the way you are thinking. You have showed me hospitality and have treated me better than the others have. For that I suppose I owe you some sort of gratitude.”

Thor cocked a brow. “That does not sound like a ‘yes’ to me.”

A sly chuckle escaped Loki’s lips like a fox not yet discovered in a hunt. “You are brighter than your companions say. Fear not, Thor. What is it you want of me? Do not say love, for then we would both be lying.”

Thor frowned. He didn’t know if it was love that he wanted, but he did want something with Loki. He just didn’t know what.  “I suppose…”

“You suppose what? Be firm, Odinson. Else I will think you do not desire me at all.”

Thor let out a frustrated huff. Fine. “I suppose I would like to kiss you. And touch you, if you will let me.”

Loki grinned, but it wasn’t the grin Thor had seen before. It was much more sinister and made him a little uncomfortable. “Kiss me? Touch me? That is all you would like to do?”

Thor nodded swiftly, looking at the stone floor and trying not to let any color rise to his cheeks.

Then Loki stood up from the water, fully exposed and very close to Thor.  He could see the blue ridges on Loki’s skin and feel the icy mist from the freezing water he had been sitting in. There was not a bruise on his body, not any indication of the prior events that had harmed him. So the spell had been a healing spell. Not too surprising.

Loki stepped from the water with grace, as though he’d been practicing stepping out of a tub for centuries. What Thor hadn’t been expecting were the hands that gripped his shoulders, gently pushing him down to the cold stone floor.  His pulse began to race and he opened his mouth to say something, but couldn’t find any words.

“You are so much more sufferable when you’re quiet,” Loki murmured, straddling his stomach. Thor was trying his very best not to look between Loki’s legs.

“You’re healed,” he blurted out, keeping his eyes up.

Loki chuckled. “Indeed. Your Aesir magic is not so effective on those of Jotunheim birth. A good effort though. I shall have to thank Frigga for her help.” The Jotun leaned back, resting his elbows on Thor’s hips and gazing at him through his open legs. Thor decided to look at the ceiling.

“Now, Odinson, I commend your efforts to appear gentlemanly, but I am well aware of the basis of your attraction. You lust after me, do you not?”

Thor pursed his lips, not saying anything. That was not his only reason for being attracted to Loki. Not at all!

Loki sat up again, this time leaning forward to rest his elbows on Thor’s chest, scooting his hips back to just above Thor’s. “I believe I’ve found an answer.”

“I liked it better when you were quiet,” Thor muttered.

Loki clucked in mock disapproval. “Now, that is no way to talk to a prince, is it?”

“In case you have forgotten, I am prince of this realm—and of higher rank than you,” Thor countered.

The Jotun’s eyes narrowed slightly, but his grin remained. “As far as I can see, you are beneath me at the moment.”

Thor huffed, meeting Loki’s gaze with a glare. “Against my will.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Because I am sure you could not throw me off of you. Honestly, Odinson, you are pathetic. “

“I have led armies to battle—to victory. What have you led, Laufeyson?”

A snarl formed on Loki’s lips and he leaned closer until all Thor could see was the blood red of Loki’s eyes.  “Someday I will be king of Jotunheim. When my armies tread upon the corpses of your—“

Thor didn’t feel like having a power battle while lying on his back on a stone floor. So he kissed those blue, snarling lips before they really made him angry.

Loki’s mouth stopped moving at once and his pupils pricked a fraction of a second before he threw himself back and slashed Thor right across the face.

Thor laughed despite the stinging of his cheek and nose. “You are surprised! I thought you knew of my true intentions, Laufeyson.”

Loki glared at him and promptly stood up, magicking himself a loincloth. Thor watched as the gold ornaments that had been taken off due to swelling appeared on Loki’s body and in his hair once more.

“I have not seen you use magic before.”

“My mother’s spell seems to have limited my magic as well as my speech. I thought it might have been the suffocating atmosphere of this realm, but that does not seem to be the case.”

“I like your voice,” Thor said with a smirk, scrambling to his feet again.

Clawed nails were at his face again, but they were clutching his face this time instead of scratching. “Here me, Prince of Asgard,” Loki spat, much too close to his face (again). “You seem to think that I enjoy these games of yours. I assure you that I do not and never will. These past few days have been an ugly slip of my character—no thanks to your foolishness and detestable actions against me. Your flattery is useless and will not win you any favor with me.”

Loki released him with a shove, leaving Thor blinking as he prince strode by.

“Well, what will win me favor with you?” Thor asked, hurrying out of the bathroom.

Loki snorted, though he swore he saw a smirk on the Jotun’s lips. “I believe it is time we break fast, is it not?”

Thor narrowed his eyes, scurrying ahead of Loki simply to get out the door first. A guard started at the sight if him, then nodded curtly and went back to his post at the door.

“We will be breaking fast in smaller company today. In fact, it will just be my mother and father in our company.”

If Loki was nervous, he didn’t show it. “Is that so. Is there some sort of celebration going on?”

Thor glanced over at the Jotun prince, trying to survey how Loki would take the next bit of news. “Well, your people ambushed us two nights ago.  Five hundred of our warriors are trapped in Jotunheim dungeons.”

“Fitting for blundering Aesir,” Loki muttered.

Thor turned on him and he caught fear in Loki’s eyes, though it was only for a split second.  “You will not speak of my friends in such a way. _Someone_ told the Frost Giants where to attack. I am trying to convince my father that it was not you, though now I am more apt to believe it.”

“Believe what you wish,” Loki snarled. “I am still a prince of Jotunheim. I will never assist the Aesir.”

“Oh, but you will. You will lead us to our warriors or face punishment of death.”

“You would loathe to see me dead,” Loki snapped.

“Tempt me then and refuse,” he growled. “You may have my affections, but seeing as they are unreturned I could not care less about what they do to you.” A total lie, but Loki needed to snap out of his current mood. Odin would have no patience for it, just as Thor didn’t.

Loki hissed, but said nothing for a few moments as they walked toward the royal bedchamber at the far end of the hall. “So you expect me to betray my realm in exchange for my life to be spared?”

“Yes.” If Loki was the runt as Odin had said, then he would surely value his own life over those that had been so cruel as to not declare him a proper prince.

But it seemed that was not the case.

“Then I shall die for my realm with honor. I will never help the Aesir.”

Thor shrugged, not bothering to look over at him. “Perhaps once you see what will happen when you help us, you will be less bitter.” They stopped in front of the door as the guards parted before them. “Think carefully before you deny the Allfather. His patience is far shorter than mine.”

With that, Thor pushed open the door to his father’s chambers, motioning Loki inside. Red eyes shifted uneasily, but soon the doors were shut again, effectively closing them off form the rest of the palace. Thor gave Loki a little shove.

“Eyes up, Laufeyson. Be on your best behavior.”


	11. From The Dragon's Mouth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for my horrible updating skills. School has started and college is sucking away every last ounce of my free time. This is just a short chapter, but I figured it would be better to post it now instead of waiting around even longer to put some more fancy words in it. x.x

Loki had only ever seen Frigga’s study when it came to royal rooms. She seemed to spend most of her time there or in the libraries, so there had never been any need for him to go to the royal chambers. Not that he would have been allowed inside anyway. If Asgard was anything like Jotunheim, only those of royal blood were allowed inside unless specifically asked for by the King or Queen of the realm.  And judging by the amount of guards in front of the doors, his suspicion was correct.

The room was a realm all its own. Impossibly long sheets hung from the ceilings, billowing in the light wind from outside. The view was spectacular—every inch of Asgard seemed visible from just this one spot. Loki’s eyes went next to the gold carvings that made up the walls, wrapping around each pillar and nook it could reach. A massive bed basked in the morning sunlight. The bedframe appeared to be made of golden antlers with the occasional pearl of bone slipping through. A dragon skull sat at the head, holding a massive jewel between its fangs that Loki was sure he had seen somewhere before. It glowed strangely, exuding an aura of power that gave Loki the strongest urge to try and steal it.

Thor’s hand on the small of his back snapped him from his focus. He slapped the hand away with a hiss, exposing his fangs in a seemingly universal gesture of loathing. Not smiling—the facial movement he had learned to recognize from Aesir.

“This way,” Thor growled, motioning away from the bed and the jewel.

Loki tossed one last look over his shoulder then turned to see a round table piled high with every kind of food to break fast that Loki had ever seen. Even foods that he had come to know weren’t for breaking fast: grouse, pork, lamb, slathered in disgusting sauces that tasted nothing like blood. They didn’t even have any eyes or brains to pick at.

“Loki,” Frigga greeted, extending a hand. She wasn’t wearing any jewelry aside from a necklace, which was odd. Jotnar wore as much jewelry as they could fit on their bodies. Loki occasionally saw them passing his room to attend formal events and some even seared gold to their bodies with magic to accent their markings. Piercings were all that was allowed for those of royal blood, and even though Loki had never been treated as a proper prince, his ears and nose had been pierced, as well as his lips, nipples, and navel. His markings were royal and to sear gold to his skin would be an insult to his heritage.

“Lady Frigga,” he greeted, taking her hand to his lips and pressing a polite kiss to her knuckles.

“I am envious of your ornaments,” Frigga praised, her gaze running over his body the way Farbauti might look at him on his crowning day. Loki smiled. Rings adorned every finger, piercings dotted up his earlobes, one or two connected by golden bars. Gold chains, bangles, discs, and jewels adorned his hair and a rather impressive navel ornament in the shape of an artic snake head covered his bellybutton, with looping gold chains creating a good movement when he walked.

His nose was pierced between the nostrils two times, with two gold snakes weaving around each other and through the holes. There was much more, but Loki simply did not have the time to properly admire himself before Odin was clearing his throat.

“Loki, there is urgent business to discuss.”

Loki smirked, raising a finger. With a bit of magic, golden claw-shaped finger caps covered all of his fingers, connected with looped and dangling chains. It was more of armor than jewelry, accurately expressing—in Loki’s opinion—the mix of war talk and luxury. Though mistreated, he had been schooled in diplomacy for just such a situation.  “You will address me by my formal title.”

Odin’s eye narrowed. “Forgive me, but Prince Loki, Son of Laufey the King of Jotunheim is too much a mouthful for our talk here.”

“Prince Loki will suffice then,” he replied with a small shrug that caused a little jingle.

“Sit.” Odin pointed to a claw-footed chair. Loki curled his lip in disgust, but took his seat. Thor sat beside him, but Loki made sure to scoot far enough away that he was closer to Frigga.

Odin sat and stared for a few moments as Loki selected a bushel of grapes to snack on. He rather liked grapes, compared to most of the disgusting Aesir food.

“Prince Loki,” Odin started, ”Your peoples have taken five hundred of our army and slaughtered five hundred more. Your father has made it very clear he intends to use our men as leverage to attempt to convince us to meet his demands. We will do no such thing.”

“And what has my father demanded?” Loki asked, puncturing a grape with a golden claw before bringing it to his lips and sucking it off.

“He demands all of our realm’s treasures, including weapons that could cause the end of all of Yggdrasil if used incorrectly,” said Odin, curling his lip at the way Loki had chosen to eat his breakfast.

Loki’s pink tongue slipped from his mouth to catch a bit of grape juice before shrugging. “My father should receive what he asks for. Unless Asgard cares more for treasures than the lives of their warriors.”

“They are not simply treasures, Loki,” Frigga said quietly, frowning at him. “They are weapons of ancient magical properties. In the wrong hands they are—“

“My father is no fool,” Loki snapped, eyes narrowing. “Nor is Jotunheim a realm without magic. We are quite skilled and I am sure we could handle a few jeweled weapons.”

“I beg to differ,” Thor interjected. “Jotunheim only seeks to take control of Asgard, no matter who falls—“

“You do not know a thing about my realm!” Loki snarled, turning to the prince with all of the fury he could muster.

Thor blinked, but regained his composure. “I know plenty about Jotunheim,” he retorted. “I have slaughtered enough Frost Giants to—“

“Enough!” Odin boomed with a fist to the table. “Loki, help us and you will be returned to Jotunheim.”

Loki snorted. “Ah yes, throw me to the dogs who will accept me as a traitor.” Well, a traitor twice over. The boy who cursed the house of Laufey and who snuck Asgard into the realm? It would be just too good.

“Then what do you wish for in return for your assistance?” Odin spat the last word as though it were a curse.

Loki smirked, pushing the grapes around on his plate.  “I want to be king of Jotunheim. That is my only desire and I will not achieve the throne by _assisting_ the enemy.”

“You underestimate Asgard’s reach, son of Laufey,” Odin murmured.

“Father! Your wouldn’t—“

Thor was quickly silenced with a glare from the Allfather. Oh how Loki loved to see the golden son squirm. “I can give you the throne. It is high time Laufey was evicted from it anyhow.”

“I know a lie when I hear one, King of Asgard,” Loki chuckled around a grape.

“I do not lie. Jotunheim is yours if you return our men to us.”

“And who will accompany me on this great and honorable quest?”

“My son, the Warriors Three, Sif and twenty of our warriors.”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Gods, you act as though we are blind, deaf and dumb. Twenty warriors will be spotted in a heartbeat.”

“Then it is your job to conceal them,” Odin snapped.

Sneaking a band of warriors through the ice caps and forests of his home would be difficult—especially since Loki had never really been taken out of his room in the palace. He knew the maps of Jotunheim though. He had been taught to know where every part of his future kingdom would lie. But looking at a parchment and walking the terrain were two different things. Not to mention Thor would be there to throw it all to Hel.

“Let us not jump ahead,” he purred, a plan already brewing in his mind. “You must promise me the throne, but that is not all I wish for.”

“We will discuss your terms, but I do not think you should require anything—“

“So you would leave five hundred men to starve and freeze all because I asked for a few trinkets?”

Odin frowned, glowering at him. He evidently had not expected Loki to know how to properly negotiate.

“I would like the chance to select fifty jewels from your palace hoard. And while I stay here, I want the finest guest chambers you can provide—with guards posted at the doors.” He wasn’t sure about Tyr or if he had any friends that might want to pay a visit. Or Thor. “And Tyr.”

“What about Tyr?” Thor asked with narrowed eyes.

Loki glared at him. “I would like two hours with your beloved general. I will not kill him, do not worry.” He flashed a breathy smile and Odin’s frown somehow deepened further into his face. The Allfather was not fooled, but Thor was.

“And I have one more request,” Loki murmured, flashing a sly grin as his golden-capped claws tilted Thor’s chin up.

“What would that be, Prince Loki?” Odin grumbled.

Loki turned his head, blindly lifting his claws to card through Thor’s hair. “Why, your son’s hand in marriage, my dear king.”

Thor dropped his chalice with a loud clang and Odin’s face lost its color. Victory was Loki's.


End file.
